When worlds collide
by Dannyhime
Summary: Amira is not the typical girl from Damascus, and, as such, she finds herself involved in a series of very troublesome events - all which include a very stubborn and ill mannered assassin...
1. Chapter 1: Witness

**Chapter One: Witness**

The usual heat and blazing sun that characterized the Middle Eastern summer had not failed to meet the yearly expectations – it was almost unendurable. The atmosphere throughout the always busy city of Damascus was horribly dry and thick. The loose of fragments of soil that paved the floor fluttered around wildly every time a slight breeze would make itself present, making breathing quite a tedious task. Despite the painful temperatures, activity never stopped in the beautiful city. Outside, the merchants stood, sheltered by the tents of their stalls, yelling at the passersby, encouraging them to buy their products. The beggars had not stopped their shameful pleading, for they could be heard as they clung to those who they assumed would spare some coins for them. The guards, too, though their jobs were limited to capturing a petty thief or two, made their rounds around the city, carrying their heavy clothes and armor around with them.

"It's the typical day in Damascus, isn't it child?" The chief scholar of the city asked the girl that stood lurking out the window into the cluster of people outside. She turned around quickly and bowed respectfully at the figure that had just entered the room.

"Good morning, sir, it's a wonderful day today. I'm eager to start my lessons." She replied, her voice incredibly polite. The old man sighed and took a seat in one of the chairs that were bestowed in the room. He motioned her to seat, and merrily ran towards the chair.

"No, no, not like that," he scolded. "You are to walk over here like a lady, Amira." She stopped in her tracks and let out a heavy sigh before starting a very feminine walk towards him. "That's better." He replied. She took a seat, her legs crossed over the chair.

"What am I to do with you, child?" He asked more to himself than to her, with a slight frown on his face. "You don't obey me. You don't obey your father. You are always so stern and defiant. You are to grow to be a lady, Amira. You may have convinced your father to allow you to be educated, but I do not think you will convince him to treat you as a man."

"I do not want to be treated as man, sir," she said with a smile on her face, "but I don't want to be treated as an object either. I am sure that a studied man such as you might agree. We, women, could do so much more than just sit around at home. Shouldn't we be granted with the opportunity?"

The old man chuckled and crossed his arms across his chest, his light brown eyes staring deeply into her almost black eyes. "If every girl I met was as bright as you are, then it would be worth the shot. But, even if we wanted to, their parents would not allow. And, even if they allowed, there is a chance the girls might refuse. Though I am sure there might be a time when you will be able to join academies as freely as boys, those times are not here yet. I just expect you to keep your part of the deal, right, Amira?"

"I know, I know," she said and rolled her eyes, "I am to tell no one that I have received any education. I know I am to feign ignorance, sir, you need not remind me."

The man chuckled again, and a smile grew on her face.

"Sometimes it is hard to believe you are only twelve years old, kid."

"Sir!" a young man in a guard's uniform burst in the room, almost breaking the expensive goblet that stood in a pillar by the door. "There are assassins in town, we need to get you to a safe place right away!" The look of shock that spread to the man's face when he heard the word, assassin, was one of the things that Amira never learned how to forget. Soon after the guard walked in, they saw as his body hit the floor, landing with a loud thump and a knife on his back.

"Amira, get out of here!" The old man yell, but the girl did not run. She got up from her chair and stood beside him, glancing all over the room, trying to locate the killer.

"I'm not going to leave sir," she stated, looking at him straight into his eyes with a defiant glare, the same one that characterized her. "Child, please," the man pleaded but the girl simply shook her head, stubbornly. She walk towards the body, slowly, looking back at her professor very often. She kneeled next to the body and, mustering all her strength, pulled out the dagger that had settled on his spine. The blood was dripping and it soon stained her hands and clothes. 'With this I may be able to put a fight,' she thought, though she quickly admitted that putting up a fight would be futile. When she looked up from the dead body she saw a white figured standing behind the old man.

"Sir, behind you!" she yelled. Holding the knife steadily she dashed towards the figure. Though she knew it was too late, he had, long before she realized, driven his blade into his throat. The scholar's body fell, his white robes covered with the crimson shade of blood. She stopped at the sight of the man kneeling next to it, using a feather to take a sample of his blood. Acting on instinct, she threw the knife at him, missing clearly, but gaining his attention.

"Murderer," she said her eyes teary and her pale face red with anger, "your creed says you are to stay your blade from innocent blood. Why did you kill him?"

"How do you know about our creed boy?" The assassin said, walking towards her shaking figure.

"I am not a boy, damn it!" She said, taking off the turban that concealed her long and curly, dark brown hair. Her face was shown too, and it was much too soft to be taken for a boy.

"A girl?" the assassin, said out loud, staring at her, surprised. "Jamil taught girls?"

"He was a nice man!" She yelled, tears now starting to pour, "He was a nice man and you killed him, right in front of me! Why, assassin? Why did you do it?"

"He was corrupting young minds like yours, child," he replied, his voice soft. 'Al Mualim told me he was brainwashing them to mistreat women, so why did he had one as a pupil?' he questioned himself.

"Go." She whispered, tears still falling from her eyes. "If the guards find you, you will be executed, so leave."

More shock ran through the assassin's body. "Why-," was all he managed to put in words before the girl yelled: "I don't want to witness three murders in one day, you idiot! Now, get out of here!" She fell to her knees and started weeping quietly, next to her teacher's body. The sound of footsteps was heard approaching at quite the fast speed. The assassin, took it as a sign to depart and started running towards the main window, the one where she had been standing moments earlier, admiring the city. "I'm sorry, child." He whispered before disappearing. The guards went inside again, as aggressively as the previous one.

"Which way did he go?" They yelled at a weeping Amira. She looked up and with her trembling hand pointed towards the window, the wrong window. The guards ran towards it and, though not as graciously as the one man before them, jumped out into a nearby rooftop. The girl looked again at the body and resumed her silent weeping.

"I am sorry," she whispered, "It is probably my fault that you died, sir. I am so sorry."

Her sobs became louder, gradually, until they filled the empty palace with her despair. She was hurting so bad, blaming herself for his death. Yet, she had let the killer go. Why? She wondered, though she was never able to answer such a question. Footsteps she heard again, and remembered her side of the agreement: no one was to know she was his student.

"Oh, no," she said, getting up to her feet quickly. She grabbed the beautifully carved knife she had thrown at the assassin and ran out the room through the same door she used to reach it. She moved one of the shelves slightly to the side and opened the door that lay hidden behind it. She opened it and quickly ran in. On the other side of the wall she heard the whispers and murmuring of the guards outside. As quietly as possible, she began to get away and once she was far enough she started to run. Unlike most girls, she enjoyed running, 'it helps me blow off steam' she told her mother every time she was reprimanded for it. That very moment, she really needed to run. And so she did, she ran and ran, until she passed out, dehydrated, right outside her house's door.


	2. Chapter 2: Work

**Chapter Two: Work**

_(Five Years Later) _

"You have grown, Altair," Al Mualim, spoke softly but proud. "You will move once again up in the ranks, and I shall grant you permission to hold one more piece of your equipment." He placed a short blade on the desk and Altair took it, holding it tightly in his hands.

It had been two weeks since Altair had been stripped from his rank. After assassinating, three of his targets, he seemed to be moving on quite faster than he himself might have expected.

"You have not yet redeemed yourself, however," the master spoke as if feeling Altair's relative relief. "You still have missions to complete. Against my calculations, there seems to be another man for you to deal with, one whom I have not mentioned before."

Surprised, Altair lifted his head and raised his voice: "A new one? I thought there were only nine!"

"I thought so too, Altair, I thought so too," His master's voice trailed off and turned into a silent whisper, as if concealing something from his pupil.

"But, it seems as if my knowledge was not as broad as I believed. Your new target will be, Shakir Bra'em. He is a merchant, like Tamir, and just as prosperous as well. Doubt me not, Altair, my sources are never wrong. This man is not an innocent, rest assured. Now go, to the city of Damascus. The bureau leader there will tell you what you need to know. Be safe, child."

Altair opened his mouth for he still felt like asking more about the new target and the sudden addition to his list of tasks. He closed it though, as soon as the thought crossed his mind. He knew not to push the master too much for it could get him in trouble – trouble which at the moment he did not need. He placed the blade in his back, adjusting the leather straps that secured it.

"As you wish, master," he said before exiting his study, though it was not unlikely, he would only leave by jumping over the ledge when something was bothering him. He landed very loudly on the stone floor, causing some heads to turn his way. Used to it, the guards just shrugged it off and they returned to their duty. He walked outside, though he was practically running, anxious and a tad concerned about his sudden assignment. He hopped onto the back of his beautiful black horse and, with a command of his voice it started galloping away, towards Damascus.

*******

"Young mistress, wait!" She heard one of her chambermaids yell at her as she dashed away from the room. She was laughing, mostly out of the feeling running gave to her, but also due to the enjoyment she got from angering her maids. She ran through the halls, turning sharply in the corners and swinging from the occasional beams that might present themselves on her path. She ended, pretty quickly, in the flower garden she adored so much, especially in the times of summer. The water fountains that decorated the garden provided not only a beautiful sight, but a break to the long hours of almost unbearable heat.

"Young mistress!" she heard her chamber maid yell from the window above her. "You cannot go running around that way! What will your father say if he sees you? What will young Adnan say?"

"You know it matters to me not what they say, ma'am. They have stripped me of everything I cared about, running is all that I've got. I'm not giving that up, ma'am."

"Ladies have to be docile, Amira, that's why she reprimands you." She heard a voice call from behind, she turned around quickly to see her soon to be husband, Adnan, standing behind her. She let out a smile, before making her way towards him.

"How did you get here, Adnan?" She asked him, her eyes sparkling with joy.

"I ran," he said in a very light tone of voice.

"Do you see ma'am," she called out to her chambermaid who still stood by the window, "Master Adnan enjoys running as well." She let out a laugh before sticking her tongue out at her maid.

"But I am sure, mistress Amira that he is not running from his chores!" She said before slamming the window shut. Amira kept on laughing, now accompanied by her fiancée. She took a seat on the bench next to him, close, but not close enough to be reprimanded by her superiors afterwards.

"Why are you here, Adnan?" She asked him with a smile on her face.

"Your father sent me, Amira, there seems to be a problem."

"What is it?" she interrupted him abruptly. He sighed and got up from the shaded bench. As he stepped into the sun, his dirty blonde hair and green eyes became visible, shining brightly against the sunlight.

"It seems like he won't be able to make it home form Acre tomorrow. He says he will be here as soon as possible but you should not expect him before midweek. And I am afraid, I will have to take my leave to Acre as well, though I really do not want to, I have to support your father."

Amira sighed and threw her body across the bench, her eyes half shut due to the sun that was filtering from the holes between the trees' leaves. She was told before that her clothes were quite inappropriate for a lady and now she could tell why. Her tight clothes allowed her curves to be fully exposed especially when she lay down. Adnan eyed her, carefully, enjoying the sight.

"You are beautiful, Amira." He said softly, as he walked towards her. "Your name truly fits your looks, if only it would fit your behavior." He said, now jokingly. Amira started giggling again. He kneeled besides her and placed one of his arms on her waist; he stared at her in the eye and whispered. "I love you Amira." She was taken aback by such comment and tried to stand up, but she was pushed down by her fiancée. "You don't have to say a thing, Amira, as long as I love you, nothing else matters." He got up from his kneeling stance and pulled her up with him.

"Now, we do not want to make your chambermaid too mad, or do we?" He asked her. The faint blush her pale cheeks had grew deeper when she remembered she had escaped from her chores.

"Let's go," he commanded stretching his hand out for her to take. She gladly took it and walked with him towards the insides of her mansion. Her chambermaid had been spying at them from behind some bushes and stepped right out the moment he heard his suggestion.

"That's correct young master, Abnan, mistress Amira will return to her chores right away."

"I know that, gee," she said rolling her eyes. Abnan dropped her hand and started walking away, his usual smile still plastered on his face. He stopped in his tracks however, when he spotted the first blooming flower of the season. He bent to pick it up and once he held it in his hand yelled at Amira and her chambermaid to halt. Obediently, they both stopped and turned to look at the boy who walked towards them, holding the flower in his hand. He took one of Amira's hands and carefully placed it in her open palm.

"This is for you Amira Bra'em," he said with an unique charm that characterized him. She started blushing again, a bit more wildly than before.

"Thank you, Master Abnan," she said, her voice sounding girly for a change. She stared at him, right into his beautiful green eyes before turning around and walking away with her now exasperated maid.

"Kids these days," she muttered when they were far enough from each other.

"We are not kids anymore, ma'am, I am seventeen after all."

"Compared to me you are nothing but a child, now off to work!" She scolded causing Amira to laugh. She placed the flower in the pillar that stood in her chambers, the one that once held a brilliant pot she accidentally broke whilst running. Without further complain she stood across from her chambermaid and heard her rant about etiquette and manners, paying enough attention to save her skin from more scolding. Deep inside, however, she was doing but one thing, waiting for time to pass by so night could come her way.


	3. Chapter 3: Wrong

**Chapter Three: Wrong**

"Altair, I see you've made it," the Rafiq said greeting the hooded man as he stepped into the office. "What brings you here today?"

"I am here on a mission, Rafiq. What can you tell me about Shakir Bra'em?" replied the assassin.

"He is a very prosperous merchant, son of one of the most influential men in the city. I did not know he was our target. But, if our master says so, who are we to say otherwise?" The rafiq inquired, though he rarely made comments as such, he never would've expected that such a noble man as Shakir would end up their enemy.

"That's correct. I am sure he has his reasons, but, why so surprised?"

"Well, he is known for being quite wealthy, but, he does not spend such wealth on lavish items. No, he donates part of income to the city; to help it be improved, rebuilt when it needs to be. He also tends to helps beggars; he gives them some coins and a chance to work for him, to earn their money rightfully."

"Most templars hide their evil under a façade of good deeds." Altair replied. He always had doubts about his assignments, especially after he'd spoken with them. This time however, his concern was a bit more elevated than usual. From what the rafiq told him, there was no apparent reason to slay such a man.

"True, true," the rafiq accepted, still pondering about the assignment, nonetheless. "One thing I could tell you is that this may be the easiest assignment for you, Altair."

"Why is that?" Altair quickly responded, coming off a tad more impatient than he wanted to.

"The only time he has guards around him is when he is away on business, but at his home, there is just him and his servants." The rafiq stated, putting a feather on the counter. "Since I do not entirely agree with this one assignment, I am to let you do the assassination without much delay. The faster you end this the better it shall be."

"Tell me where to find him," Altair demanded, taking the feather in his hands and placing it on one of pockets.

"Easy, he never leaves his home. You are to find him every day and every night, as long as he is town, in his manor. It is located on the rich district, it is quite the big house, you will locate it easily. It has lots of gardens around them too, as well as many water fountains." The rafiq explained, his voice faltering a bit as he spoke.

"How come you know so much about him?" Altair pressed, he had never been given directions so concrete when attempting an assassination.

"He is my friend, or so he was, before you were asked to take his life." The rafiq responded, lowering his head as he did so. "Please, don't drag this out any longer Altair, it is as a favor that I ask this of you, please be done with it."

Upon hearing his superior's pleading voice Altair bowed to him and promptly exited the bureau. Things had gotten more complicated than he thought they would be and the situation definitely did not seem right. The assignment was given to him on a shorter notice than the previous ones and Al Mualim had refused to give him much information about it. One of their members, one of the rafiqs, seemed surprised by the choice for it seems he knew the man quite better than he was to expect. The fact that they were friends was the most intriguing, why would an assassin befriend a Templar? His mind racing and his blood boiling, he made his way as quickly as possible towards the mansion that was the home to his target.

***

With the dark of the night finally taking over the blue of the sky, Amira was dismissed from her tedious household chores. Weaving and pottery were to her trivial tasks, which she did not entirely despise, what she did hate, though, was being forced to learn them just because she was a woman. The reason why she loved the night so much was because it was silent and still – her chambermaids were sleeping and the guards that sometimes patrolled the outside had left their posts hours ago. In such still and peace she was allowed to indulge in things forbidden to women: books. Her father, who after losing his wife decided that he would do what he could to make his only daughter happy, bought her such writings, through gritted teeth nonetheless. She kept the books in his father's room, in the privacy of his study, in case the books were ever found she could easily say they belonged to her father.

Holding only a small candle, she made her way through the labyrinth of corridors she knew by heart. Silently – making sure nobody had heard her creeping about – she entered her father's glorious room. It was the biggest on in the house, and the prettiest one as well. It was decorated by her mother, who, unlike Amira, was as ladylike as any aristocratic women of the time. The room, with its lavishly carved walls and brilliant pottery adorning its sides, took up half of the second floor. Keeping her noise level to a minimum, she went in and shut the door. She lit two of the many lamps that stood inside and proceeded to take out one of the many books that sat on the shelves.

She dumped herself on the bed with the book and the lamp. It was the first time in almost a week that she had a chance to read. Her chambermaid had become quite suspicious of her random entries into her father's quarters which would, at times, last until midnight. Thinking the worse, her chambermaid decided to ban her entry to the room and to overwork her with new assignments every day. Night was the only time she had left to read, and sometimes she was much too tired to do so. 'I'm thankful to pottery', she would think, 'for it does not take as much energy as all the other chores.' That day, though, she had been working on a very complex quilt design, reason why, even though she longed to read, her exhaustion got the best of her. After merely two hours of lecture, she had finished the book, and instead of grabbing another one she placed the one she was currently holding back in its stand. She blew off the candle's fire, and again dumped herself into the comfortable and its smooth silk sheets.

She fell asleep after a minute or so, and her subconscious started getting the best of her. Though it had been five years since the assassination of her master, she had not let go of the imagery in her head. During the day, she was the happy little girl, always playing around and never taking anything too seriously. But, when she slept, her memories got the best of her and flooded her dreams with the events of five years ago. Everything was as clear and exact as if it all had happened merely moments ago. From time to time, her dreams would vary from the exact events, changing some details here and there. One thing would stay concise, though. The figure that had taken away the scholar's life, never exited her mind. She could remember him exactly as he was that day: a white hood over his head, covering most of his face, the hidden blade he carried in his gauntlet, the sword on his hip, and the blade carried on his back. Sometimes she would see him chasing after her, sometimes he was simply talking to her, but he was always, in her mind. Every time she awoke from the dreams, realizing she was still in the safety of her home, she would tell herself that everything was okay. 'There is no problem, for I am sure, I will never see that man again.' Though she did not exactly believe herself every time, her words would ease her trouble. What she did not know, however, was that she was very _wrong._


	4. Chapter 4: Woman

**Chapter Four: Woman**

Altair had found the house the rafiq described in no time. It was one of the biggest houses in the district and its gardens were definitely the most prominent. He sneaked in the house, as swiftly and silently as he was used to. The insides were very different, he presumed, for all the other manors, the walls were simple and plain, yet the size of the rooms was greater than the average person's room. The halls were darkened by the dark that had settled in, though it was quickly being lift, for the dawn was approaching in the horizon. He had few minutes to break into his room, before the sun lit the entire house, waking all the household members.

The room he thought would belong to the man he had to assassinate, was not hard to spot. It was bigger than all the other rooms, and the entire ambiance changed as he approached the room. Everything became brighter, more luxurious and enticing. He opened the door, quietly, and stepped inside. He soon found himself standing in a majestic bedroom. A large bed stood in the very middle of it, and in the bed, a lonely figure could be seen sleeping under the sheets. Altair pulled out his blade, thinking about striking as he slept, but he pulled it back in when he realized he had much to ask such a man.

He approached the bed, slowly, and jumped into it, hastily. The figure which had been sleeping relatively calmly under the sheets suddenly awoke when it felt the shift in weight. As it struggled to pull itself up, Altair grabbed its throat and slammed it against the bed. With his free hand he pulled the sheet off its face to begin the interrogation. Instead of encountering the eyes and face of an old, corrupt man, Altair found himself staring at a pair of very dark, very feminine, very scared eyes.

"A _woman_?!" he exclaimed, letting go of his grip around her neck. She gasped for air, in an effort to regain the consciousness she had begun to lose. As her breathing stabilized she glared up to see the same figure that she had seen, leaning over her master's dead body.

"Assassin," she muttered, before trying to push him off the bed. He grabbed her hands and wrestled her to the ground, both of them falling, making a sound louder than Altair wanted.

"Why are you here, woman?" He demanded, his body over hers, one of his arms holding her arms tightly over her head and his blade hand holding the hidden blade against her neck.

"I believe you should answer that question first, assassin," she said, practically ignoring the fact that he could easily take her life.

"How do you know I am an assassin? Are you a templar too?" Altair asked her, slightly piercing her flesh with his blade.

"Why, you don't remember me? We have met already, assassin, you murdered my master, five years ago. And now it seems you've come to take my life." She replied, her voice breaking off slightly at the last words.

"Amira! Mistress Amira! Open up!" the servants were screaming on the other side of the door. It was because of Altair that they could not enter for he had locked the door, but it was also his fault that they were found for he had been just too loud.

The knocking did not stop, as Altair tried to remember the face of the girl he had pinned down to the ground. It did not take long though, for the few instances in which he had encountered a woman they were either hookers or lovers. Only one time did he stumble upon a little girl to witness his kill, only one time did he stumble on a girl at a scholar's temple.

"You were Jamil's student, that's right. And, now you are Shakir's lover." Altair stated, eyeing her from head to toe. The girl he had mistaken for a boy surprisingly looked like a lady.

"I am not his lover! He is my father!" She yelled, insulted, trying to break his gaze from her.

"Oh, well, where is he?" He asked her. The knocking on the door increased and soon enough the servants had been joined by a group of guards who were attempting to bring the door down. The morning sun was beginning to rise and given the many windows the house was characterized with, the light was being filtered in. It was with the soft sunlight caressing her pale skin that Altair was truly able to recognize the girl. Besides the additional curves in her body not much had changed. Her hair remained dark and wavy though her eyes, which he thought were too dark of a shade of brown, looked nice and bright under the sun.

"Do you think I am going to tell you?" Amira said, her voice filled with spite. "You are going to kill him aren't you? Well what did he do now?"

"Just tell me where your father is, woman!" Altair yelled again, but before he could obtain an answer, or well, keep on asking for on, the doors to the chambers flew open. The guards had been able to break the lock. Altair hid his blade but he did not move from the position in which he was. Amira turned to look at the men, who were standing with their swords out.

"Mistress Amira, what is this?!" her chambermaid yelled, outraged. Amira opened her mouth to explain but shut it right back. She glared at Altair who in turn shot a smirk her way, apparently enjoying the assumptions her maids were making.

"Wait a minute," said one of the guards. "You are that girl that was found at the temple when the scholar Jamil was murdered." He said pointing at Amira who bit her lip in return. "And you," he started once again, pointing at Altair, "you are an assassin!"

"Uh, no," Altair muttered before letting go of Amira's grip and dashing out through the door that led to the upper balconies. Just as the guards were about to chase him, the man that had discovered her took one more look at her. "She's with him, she is with the assassin." He said, a wide grin printed on her face.

"Wait, no, I am not." Amira tried to justify herself, though they did not seem to listen. She got up to her feet as fast as she could and turned to look at her maids who were just as shocked as she was.

"If we catch her, we might get the assassin as well," the guard issued before commanding, "seize her!" The guards drew their swords and ran towards her. With utter shock in her eyes, Amira did what her instinct told her to: run. She did not hesitate on it, like anybody being chased by a bunch of armed men would. She started running towards the door Altair had used to escape.

She ran up the stairs into the balconies as fast as she could. As she arrived at the roof she caught a glimpse of the direction Altair took. He seemed to have jumped off, landing on her chamber's garden. Following his lead, she did the same thing, though she was too sure she would be able to pull it off without getting hurts. The guards who were still approaching her seemed to be getting a tad closer, though not close enough to see her; after all, she was quite the good runner.

She jumped off the edge and landed, a tad less roughly than she expected, twisting her right ankle mildly, for she had landed on her feet. She ran inside and was again able to see Altair running through her halls. She thought on following him, but, since she knew the place better, she took the shortcut she used to escape from her maids. She went back outside into the balcony and again, jumped off the ledge, though this time the fall was softer. She started running through the gardens, getting her skin slashed by the many thorns of the rose shrubs. It was worth it she assured herself, for it would keep the guards from knowing where she is.

She crossed the path of flowers until she reached the outside of her manor, just in time to see Altair exiting through the kitchen's door. Acting out of instinct again, Amira yelled at him: "Assassin, wait" alerting all the guards around them that there was trouble nearby. Realizing her mistake she started running once again, after the man in the white cloak. He was faster than her, though the distance between them was not long enough to make her lose sight of him. Though now, the guards had resumed their pursuit with additions to their units.

She ran behind him, trying to catch up, though, just like that time she ran from the temple, the sun was getting to her, making her breathing harder and harder as every second flew by. 'How can he keep up such a speed?' she asked herself, unwilling to give up the chase. They kept on running downhill, towards the middle district of Damascus, a place that Amira had rarely visited. It was more crowded than the Rich District and as such losing the guards seemed like an easy enough task. What she did not know however was that there were many more guards on such district. The number of soldiers that were lost in the crowd could not compare to the greater amount of soldiers being added after each corner was crossed. Giving up on her goal to reach Altair, she made a corner different to him, in a attempt to lose the soldiers. But, the turn was sharper than she had expected causing her to lose her footing. She fell to the dirty ground, worsening the sprain on her right foot. She screamed in pain and tried to get up but she failed, for the pain on her foot would not allow her too. She tried dragging herself forwards as she heard the footsteps of the soldiers, fearing death for the first time in her life.

The guards were soon standing behind her bleeding body, their swords unsheathed and their mood definitely not good. One of them took a step towards her and, with one of his hands pulled her to her feet, causing her to grimace due to her injured foot.

"Looks like we caught you," he said teasingly, trying to keep her in a standing position.

"I wonder if your assassin friend will come and save you," another one of them said. The one that was holding her raised his free hand; a gesture that indicated them to put away their swords. Her eyes were staring into his, not showing the fear that ran through her body. He smirked at her and threw her towards the guards.

"Take her to prison," he ordered. "Killing her here would not be as fun as having her executed in public, right woman?" He had another mocking smile on his face as he walked past her body. One of his subordinated picked her up and carried her in his arms.

"Don't worry, girly," he whispered at her. "We will treat you as gently as we possibly can."

Amira flinched. Her face was red with anger and exhaustion, her mind flooded with pictures from five years ago and her heart aching with guilt and fear. She glanced around, looking carefully at the buildings as they had soon started to become blurry. She realized, as everything became covered by a low mist, that when the guard slammed her against the floor, she had somehow hit her head. She could feel the blood descending through her body but she felt no pain. She was focusing on trying to stay conscious, though she could not keep her efforts up for longer than a minute. Her eyes soon started to close, but right before they did she thought she had seen the culprit of her problem. For a split second she thought she had seen the assassin standing on a rooftop looking down on her. She snickered at the thought and quickly shrugged it off. 'Man, my luck today has just been great,' she thought before her eyes were forced shut. "Assassin," she said in a whisper that was barely audible before she passed out completely.


	5. Chapter 5: Warden

**Chapter Five: Warden**

When Amira woke up she found out that what she thought was a mere dream was crude reality. Her clothes were torn and her skin was covered in dirt and dried blood. Her head had been poorly wrapped with a piece of cloth which had soon being dyed red by her blood. She was no longer lying on her father's comfortable bed. Instead, she had been resting on cold, stone floor, behind vertical steel bars. She tried to stand up, but the nausea that accompanied her sudden movement kept her on the floor. She was cold, her body shivering slightly, and in pain.

"I see you are awake girly," the guard that had ordered her capture said with a smirk on his face. He was standing on the other side of the metal bars, obviously enjoying his catch. She turned to look at him and mustering all her will, she managed to bring herself to a sitting position, her back leaning on the stone wall behind her.

"Oh, you are the guard with the good memory," she teased, "I am amazed you were able to recognize me."

"Why, you really underestimate us, guards, don't you?" he asked her in return. Amira smiled at him, and nodded a yes. "We went through the old geezer's archives, you wench, and you were listed in them. Amira Bra'em, the daughter of Damascus golden merchant, involved in such a disgraceful thing, I think you should be thanking me for not spreading the news." He said approaching the bars, kneeling so that his eyes would more easily meet hers.

"I don't know what you are talking about," was all she could mutter. She knew it was a dead stupid reply, but she knew that playing stupid was the best way for women.

"Please, don't give me that." The guard said between chuckles. "I am amazed that old man taught girls though. I thought he was better than that. In fact, if he would sink as low as teaching women his death was but necessary."

Amira never minded the insults the other boys at the academy yelled at her nor the harsh words his father had to offer every time she did something unladylike. She never cared about being scolded or not, for she had learnt, with time, that letting things slide was the best way to go. What she never could stand, however, was hearing those she cared about, even if just a tiny bit, being insulted by others. So it was no surprise, that the man's remark on her master's death would ignite her blood.

"Maybe if he had taught you something you would not be such an ignorant fool." She replied, her voice shaking in anger. He glared at her, hostility spread all through his face. "Maybe then you would not act as an untamed animal."

"Listen to me woman!" He yelled, hitting the bars with his hands, he was as enraged as she hoped he'd be. "You better learn to know your place. Do you forget I am the one who has the power to end your life?"

"You hold no power over me," she said, refusing to give in. His eyes seemed to flash red for a while and his muscles all tensed. Clearly not used to being defied by a mere woman, his anger was getting the best of him and he was definitely not good at hiding it. Upon seeing his enraged expression, Amira thought, for the first time in her life, that she was lucky to be locked behind bars.

"Now, girly," he said, trying to calm himself down, "don't make me hurt you. After all, a dead dog is of no use for me. I came here to tell you that your execution has been scheduled for three days from now."

"You can't execute me," Amira replied. "You cannot prove that I am allied with the assassin."

"You were the only one present the day Jamil was murdered, if you were not allied with him, why would he let you live?" The guard asked, not expecting an answer.

"Their creed does not allow them to kill innocents." She replied, almost immediately and, exactly one second after she had said so, she started regretting it. The guard chuckled, enjoying her word slip.

"And how would you know that girly?" He asked her. Amira looked at him and then looked down, acknowledging defeat. "Then, you two were caught in a very…intimate, position, were you not?" Again, Amira refused to answer. "Now, if you were not involved with him you would've cried for help? If you were not involved, you would not have ran after him."

"I'm not with him," she said, firmly. She knew there was no way he'd believe her. Even if she pleaded and begged, she doubted it would change his mind.

"I know that," the guard admitted with a very wide and large smile of self-fulfillment.

"Then why are you keeping me here?!" She yelled at him, angered once again by his stupid attitude. "If you are trying to lure him here, it won't work!"

"Who says I want to get the assassin?" He asked her. "No, girly, that's not what I am after. See, after I realized who you were one ingle thought crossed my mind. 'Just how much money would daddy be willing to pay to see her free?'"

"You," she said with such spite. He was using her as a bargaining good, as an object with which to obtain money. She hated it. She hated every inch of his miserable soul at that moment. Her pale cheeks soon turned red with anger, letting him know that, he had finally driven her to an enraged state. "You will not get away with this," she finally pronounced, her voice breaking ever couple of words, "My father would never agree to such a thing."

"Oh, I do not mind, girly," he said nonchalantly, "if he refuses to pay you will simply be executed. What is one body among foundations?" He smiled at her before walking away. "You better hope he pays, girly." She heard him say, though he was much too far away to be seen. With him out of her sight, she finally allowed herself to break down.

Tears starting flowing from her eyes, though they were not tears of sorrow – they were tears of rage. But she wasn't entirely mad at the man who had just offered to pretty much sell her to her father nor was she mad at the man who had taken the life of her master and now longed to take the one of her father. She was mad herself for not being able to help his master, for letting his killer get away – though she knew, deep inside that she could not have fulfilled any of those tasks. She was mad at herself because she could not out run the guards nor could she fight them off. She was mad at herself for being weak.

Her helplessness had taken over her completely as the night began to crawl in. The satisfaction the dark sky and the cooler temperatures used to give her was absent under the conditions she found herself in. She could not stop thinking, assuming, about what will happen to her. Will her father pay the ransom? Or, will the assassin get to him first? There was silence around her and that just made her preoccupations escalade, becoming worse and worse as every second went by. The moonlight which filtered by the window outlined her silhouette. She had not moved from the spot she had fixed herself upon while talking to the guard. She did not even bother to reach for the food one of the warrens had thrown at her. She was trying to keep herself awake, but her body was putting quite the good fight incessantly trying her to sleep. She was afraid to sleep, that was the truth, she knew she was going to see everything again and she did not feel like remembering.

She closed her eyes however, but remained conscious. She was trying to think about the good things of her life. She thought it might help her deal with the circumstances, thought it would help her cope. Though, in the end, thinking about the things she was about to lose only ended up hurting more. She sighed, slowly opening her eyes. To her surprise, on the other side of the metal bars a lonely shadowed figure stood. It was wearing a hood, though she could not distinguish the color. Unsure of whether she was imagining things or not, she closed her eyes again. She quickly opened them again, when she heard the sound of keys jingling. She looked at the man standing before her.

"Come on," he whispered, a soft smile pressed on his face. "Let's get out of here."


	6. Chapter 6: Whim

Chapter Six: Whims

"Adnan!" She exclaimed getting up her feet quickly, her injuries however did not let her get away with sudden movements. Just as she got up, her body started its way back down, if Adnan were not there to catch her, she would've found herself on the floor again. He took the hood off and looked at her, a very sad expression on his face.

"How did you get here?" she asked him. Getting a hold of herself, she managed to stand upright though she was still clinging to Adnan's arm.

"Do you forget who I am, young lady?" He asked, faking being insulted. She giggled quietly, she still feared there might be someone around.

"You are nothing too special, Adnan," She said mockingly and he smiled.

"You really got beaten this time, Amira." He could not see in detail the extent of her injuries, though the lacerations were superficial they covered most of her body. Her foot was swollen and the wound on her head was still open. She also had a couple of bruises on her face, arms and abdomen.

"I've been worse," she replied, trying to hide her pain, "remember when I fell off your balcony when I was fifteen? I almost break my legs."

"Oh, how would I forget? It was me who had to carry you all the way back to your house! And it was me who had to explain things to your enraged father!" They looked at each other and started laughing.

"Seriously, Adnan," Amira said, her tone of voice drastically changed, "how did you get here?"

"I broke into the prison, that should be obvious and I took the keys from the warden. It was easier than it seems, don't worry." He was rushing his explanation. She knew from previous experiences with him that he would only do that when he believed that concealing information from her would be for the better; after all she would get really upset when his mischief got too illegal. She sighed and let go of the grip she had on his arm. She was finally able to stand on her own, though her ankle made it uncomfortable for her to walk.

"Are you sure you can stand?" he asked her, his voice filled with the true concern her condition brought upon him. He had always been by her side, ever since they were kids. Though at first, the bond they share was different. As time flew by, after many losses and grief, they became each other's support. Unlike her, he grew to love her and see her as something more than just a friend. He loved her but he knew she did not love him back. Her heart was too difficult to be tamed, and he was aware that someone who she had known for so long, someone who knew her weaknesses and secrets, someone who made her feel vulnerable, would never succeed at such a task. Still, he cared for her with his life. And, like every lover, knowing that his loved one was injured made him feel horribly worried.

"You have always been so protective with me, master Adnan. You do not need to worry this time, though. I am fine." She replied. Having her dear Adnan so close to her gave her a boost in will power.

"You are not okay, Amira," he answered back quickly, "I never understood how you managed to get into so much trouble. Ever since you were a kid, you would always do something you were not supposed to or just wander off to the wrong place. It's like you are always looking for trouble. And this time, this time you found it big time." His voice had become very harsh, it felt as if he was his senior scolding her for a wrong doing. She sighed, she was used to being scolded just not by him.

"I am sorry." She whispered. Adnan rolled his eyes and stretched out his hand to her.

"It's fine, let's just get out of here." He offered.

"No," she said hesitantly but firm. 'I am going to regret this, I know I will,' she thought, but she knew it was the best way to proceed.

"Amira, what do mean no?!" he said raising his voice a bit too much. She quickly glared at him. The warden, she knew was not dead and like anybody who is not dead, would be able to listen to his screams.

"Adnan, I am in no condition to be running away right now. I would only be a burden to you. What if they catch us?" She asked. "I am already set to be executed; I don't want to drag you down with me."

"They won't catch us," he assured her, though not even he was sure of that.

"Okay, let's pretend we get away. Where would we go? We could not possibly return to our homes. We would have to leave the city."

"We could go to Acre with your father."

"Yes, because they won't go look for us there." Amira said, sighing in frustration. They were both smart enough to think of a place to go if they got away. They would be able to survive in a different city, they were skilled enough. But, it did not matter. In order for them to think about life in a different city or different country they would first need to get away from the guards. And she knew that they would not be able to escape from them. 'If my foot was fine,' she told herself, 'then it would not be a problem.' But she was hurt and she could not escape.

"Look, Adnan is too risky," she tried to explain.

"If you were going to stay here then why did I bother to come?" He said, her hesitant attitude got on his nerves a lot.

"Adnan, you know it is too dangerous."

"So what?" he had started yelling, at that point. "Do you want me to just let you get killed? Do you want me to sit back and see you get executed? Put yourself in my position, damn it! Not that I would have let myself get framed for being an assassin…"

"Look, I am sorry!" she snapped. "But I'd rather have them kill me than have them kill us both!"

"Yes, because I would be incredibly happy about your death!" he said in a bitter and sarcastic tone. "Why do you have to be so stubborn?"

"Why do you have to be so hasty?" She threw back at him. She knew she could not and should not argue with Adnan, their arguments could drag on for a long time.

"You only have three days, but you don't want me to make haste?" he scuffed. He was still angry, but following her lead finally stopped screaming.

"I am not here because I am working with the assassin's, Adnan," she said and he nodded.

"They want my father's money. They actually expect him to pay for my freedom." She said, her voice trailing off. The anger that the warden had provoked in her when mentioning this was starting to leak.

"How much?" he inquired, "If it is money they want, I can give it to them."

"Like I would let you," she replied almost automatically.

"It's for your life, I would never hesitate."

"But it would not be fair, I could not possibly ask so much of you."

"Do you have a choice, Amira? You either pay them or you die."

"Look," she said, finally fed up with the discussion. He really was stubborn man. "Do me a favor instead. Go to Acre, where my father is, and let him know of what has happened. The guards, I am sure they will twist everything to make me seem guilty. If you could talk to him, I am sure he would understand. He knows you would never lie."

"You want me to convince your father to pay the ransom?" he asked her coldly.

"I want you to tell him the truth of the matter. I don't want him to think any less of me."

"And then convince him to pay the ransom?" he pressed. Amira sighed and crossed her arms across her chest.

"So you basically want me to go all the way to Acre to convince your father to hand out the money I could easily turn in without needing to leave the city?" he asked her, sounding very annoyed by her request.

"Pretty much." She whispered, "though, there is something else. The assassin was not after me, he was after my father. I want you to go see if he is okay."

"Why is your father a target? What happened to the whole creed thing about not hurting innocents?"

"I don't think they stick to their creed much, nowadays." She said, with certain disappointment in her voice.

"Are you sure you don't want to leave with me?" he asked her again, though he knew she would not budge.

"I am sure." She replied just as he expected. He took a couple of steps back until he was out of the cell. He reached to grab the door and pulled it shut. With the keys he had stolen he locked it again and then proceeded to throw the keys a couple of meters away from her, far enough for the guard to believe they had fallen off his pocket. He leaned his head against the bars and with a faint smile said his good-bye's. It was common of her to feel guilty for asking too much from Adnan. She knew she depended too much on him but after everything that'd happened, she grew to need him more than she could help.

The night was just beginning and she found herself having to choose between two not so appealing choices: she could stay awake and sulk about everything that was happening or she could fall asleep and face the assassin in her dreams. Both were bound to be torturous but the choice was easier than she had thought. Though he had brought all hell upon her, there was something about the assassin that made her ponder about him. Against her common sense and logic, she had started to feel a certain attraction towards him. It was not physical; she had not even stolen a glimpse or his face and she was well aware that as far as beauty is concerned no man could claim to be superior to her fiancé. It went beyond her understanding. He was behind every ill thing that had occurred to her yet she could not bring herself to loathe him. She only hoped that time – if she was to be granted the gift of time – would allow her to understand her quite ambiguous feelings. She closed her eyes and made herself as comfortable as she could to embrace sleep. It did not take too long before she was fast asleep, leaning on the cold stone wall nor did it take long for her dreams to start flowing.


	7. Intermission: Words

Intermission: Words

Dear Amira,

This place is better than I had imagined, if only you could understand the joy I felt when I arrived at this place. Unlike Damascus, this small town feels more homely, more comfortable, and warmer. Everything is at ease. The fortress where I am to be living from now on is beyond splendid. It does not have the smooth walls our mansions are characterized with, and it definitely does not have the intricate decorative carvings. No, it is not at all like those buildings. It is stronger more resilient while still being formidable. I am sure that you, being the strangest girl I have met in my lifetime, would enjoy this place, especially since it is way colder than Damascus. I am to begin my training tomorrow, so do not expect any letters for a while. I am going to be just fine, so do not go worrying about me. Please take care, and try your best to not make father upset. And, Amira, I beg of you, stay out of trouble. Send my regards to Adnan, tell him that I am awaiting his decision. He should know by now that I will not judge, regardless of what he chooses.

With Love, Your Brother.

_

* * *

  
_

_Dear Brother,_

_I am glad to know that your new home is to your likings. I have but to complain, though, this house is not the same without you. There is no one to read to me and there is no one to keep me company when I am lonely. It has barely being a couple of days and I am starting to miss you. Our father misses you too, unlike to what you may think. Adnan definitely misses you, but I am sure you expected that. He did not give me a direct response again, but I am sure he has already made up his mind. It only saddens me to know that my two favorite people in this world are going to be so far apart from me. I am actually jealous of you. You were able to escape this place, to move to where your heart asked you to but I am bound here, tied to my prescribed fate. Is it fair, brother? I only wish to be with you and Adnan, I only wish to be able to do what you do, but I am not allowed. I am whining again, so I apologize. I am still very happy for you, and I only wish you the bests of luck in your training. I am working hard too, you know. I have been taking lessons for a couple of months now and I can read almost all the words from the scribe's papers. Master is very kind, and much too praising if I must say. He says I am a brilliant child, though I still hold doubts about such a statement. I really enjoy this, you know, I thought it would be tedious as first but, as time passes by, I think that books are what I love the most – after you and Adnan of course. I will stay out of trouble like you asked of me, but you have to stay safe in return. You are my big brother; I don't want anything happening to you. Please, brother, I beg of you, stay out of trouble. I will insist on Adnan's answer. I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Take care._

_With Love, Amira_

***

Dear Amira,

You very well know that I mind you not when you let your feelings out, if not to listen to you then why else would I ask for us to stay in contact. No, I don't dislike haring you rant. I am pleased that you are doing well in your lessons, but not one bit surprised, you are after all my little sister, I expect no one to beat you. And, even though you may refuse to believe it, you are a brilliant child – much too stubborn, rough and disobedient, but brilliant indeed. You should not fear loneliness however, for sometimes a time with yourself is more than needed in order to live. When Adnan leaves, if he decides to, you will still have father. You will still have us, even though we would be a tad farther away. I am sure that once you become of age father will find someone suitable for you, and you would no longer have to face loneliness. Since I am absolutely positive you will shudder at the thought, I have a better idea; find some friends. Girls your age are abundant and you would be surprised how interesting and nice they can be. If you still refuse to claim a normal life as your own, you could move here, to Masyaf. You are a learned person, you would be of some use I am sure. But leave this as your last resort; I don't want to strip you of the chance of having a regular and stable life. Please don't get over excited about this, though I am sure you are bound to. Even if you choose this, you'll have to wait. Twelve is too young for you to be moving around. Be patient and be safe, kid. Send my regards to everybody. Oh, and I apologize for taking so long to reply, training is hard but like your master, mine beliefs I have potential. I hope I can make you proud. Stay safe.

With love, your brother

_

* * *

  
_

_Dear Brother,_

_You know me better than to assume I would be willing to accept a normal and steady life. I will try my best to enjoy it, because it is what you wish. But do not doubt that when I am finally old enough to be sent away I am going to be standing outside your door, ready to move in to that town you have grown to like so much. I can say that I agree with your master. You have always excelled at what you have done; this was to be no exception. But you have not told me anything about it yet, what does it feel like to be a, well, you know. Are there any rules, any legends or any history to it? I would love to go through their archives, for I am sure they must be rich in history. It must be amazing to work for such a group of people. I am proud of you, brother. You are doing something that many preach about but few actually try. It is honorable and it is something worth admiring. It seems my respect for you has only increased since the last time I saw you. I'm sorry I have to keep this letter short but my maidens are getting tighter on me every day. It is getting too troublesome. I will keep writing nonetheless. And I am looking forward to your response, as well. Be safe brother, you know I love you._

_Take care, Amira_

* * *

Dear Amira,

It took you long enough to inquire about it. I cannot tell you much, for I am not allowed. I can tell you, though, that we are ruled by three sacred rules, which we know as our creed. 'Hide in plain sight.' 'Stay your blade from innocent blood.' 'Never compromise the brotherhood.' They are pretty self explanatory, so I won't dwell into details. As far as legends go, I know none, and the history is too extent for me to detail here, but I will tell you everything next time we meet. I am sorry I am causing you trouble with the chambermaids, but, like I've told you, you need to learn to deal with those things. You are a handful, do not forget and do not remind your maids too often. I am to keep my writings short as well, for I have been assigned to my first mission. I have been promoted as well, my rank is not as high as some of my brother's, but it will at least allow me to carry out more important assignments. Wish me luck.

With love, your brother

* * *

_Dear Brother,_

_I am worried. I have not heard from you in over a month. You did not reply to my previous letters as well. There is something that just does not feel right. I had a dream last night. I saw the fortress, which I know you admire so much, though I am not sure if it may resemble the one you have seen. You were in such fortress brother, inside, on some kind of study. There were many shelves around it, and there was a desk in the middle. A man in a black hood stood there, reprimanding you. I don't even know why I am writing this but, brother, I saw him ending your life. I have told myself that it was nothing but a dream, a product of my wild and unstable imagination. I am still truly worried brother. Adnan offered to ride all the way over there, but I told him it was not necessary. I…don't know what to do, what to think. Please, end my uncertainty, please. _

_With love and concern, Amira_

_

* * *

  
_

Dear Amira,

I am sorry; I am not your brother. I am just a man who was honored to work with him. I am not happy to be the one to issue such news to you. Your brother is no longer in this world. I am terribly sorry, but rest assured that he is now in a better place. Do not worry anymore. If anything feel proud of him, for he died fighting for what he believed, for what was right. He was trying to build a better world for you, I am sure, so grieve not and weep not. His sacrifice was not in vain.

Sincerely, Al Mualim


	8. Chapter 8: Waking

Chapter Seven: Waking

The dream she was expecting had turned to catch her by surprise. She had not dreamt of the assassin she had grown to be – though she did not really know yet – very fond of. She instead dreamt of the fortress she had once seen in the realm of dreams, the same stony fortress that brought upon her such ill memory. She was standing outside the fortress, in what seemed a garden of roses and other assorted flowers. She was no longer wearing her usual clothes; instead, she wearing what seemed clothes from a different place. For once, she was wearing pants, white and tight, brown leather boots, and a sleeveless shirt which was as white as her pants. A red scarf was wrapped around her neck and her arms were carrying leather gloves which reached almost up to her elbows. Her hair was shorter and completely straight.

She was not sitting alone in the garden; there were two more men with her. She could not fully recognize who they were until she heard one of them speak. One of them had the same voice as the assassin, but he was much different in appearance, his clothes at least – since she had yet to see his face – were very different. A white, long sleeved shirt, he wore, with some blue pants made up of a fabric she had never seen before. His hair was short and his eyes were brown but friendly. The other man, she had not met before, he was quite tall and his hair was a very strange shade of blond. His eyes were light blue and his cheeks always pink. He was wearing an outfit similar to the other man, with the exception that he was also wearing the leather gloves she had.

They were talking, casually, as if they were old and good friends. There was a sense of peace in the atmosphere, everything was perfect and calm. The peace did not last long though, for in the midst of conversation a subtle banging was heard in the distance. It was not strong at first, but it started increasing as every second flew by. The three of them who were at some point simply enjoying life, found themselves in a immeasurable state of alarm and panic. They had all turned to look at one point in the horizon, where a bright white light was shot upright, into the sky. A light which became blinding, before releasing some kind of shockwave which ended up pushing them three backwards, into the floor. As they lay on the floor, the banging resumed, louder than ever.

And she woke up, startled, to a different type of banging. It was not the unknown noise she had heard in her dreams it was, instead, the annoying sound of an even more annoying warden hitting her cell bars with what seemed like a small dagger. She pressed a hand over her eyes before placing both over her ears. She grimaced as she looked at him, making sure that her discontent was obvious.

"Wake up woman!" he commanded, still hitting the metal bars. The sound that came from the hollow tubes was not exactly what she had heard, no, they were different, more explosive.

"I am awake and I'd appreciate it if you stop calling me woman." She said, not bothering to keep on looking at her. He had finally stopped the racket and decided to lean on the bars.

"But I only call them as I see them." He said, trying to justify himself. He chuckled and she sighed.

"Then allow me to do so too," she said, a smirk on her face, "What brings you here so early, peasant?" She saw his eyes blink red again, and she was really enjoying it. She knew very well that there were three things that would get men horribly upset: money, knowledge and social status – the last one being the worse.

"Princess, princess, don´t push the man with the dagger." He threatened, trying to calm his nerves down. It was so easy to mess with them, Amira was starting to enjoy his company.

"You have no answered my question," she insisted, not breaking her gaze from him.

"Well, I have news. I have good news, bad news and worse news. Which ones would you like to hear first?" he was addressing her with the most utter sense of delight, which she knew, must not mean he had the best news for her.

"Just tell me," she said trying to not sound weak or as concerned as she truly was.

"Because I am a good man, I will lay off the good news first. So that you do not immediately panic." He paused, waiting for a response of some sorts, seeing as he got none he carried on. "You execution has been delayed. It will no longer take place in two days, nor will it take place in this city. You are to be shipped off to Jerusalem, where Majd Addin will take care of you personally."

"If those are the good news," she said to herself, softly, in a whisper he would not hear.

"As far as the bad news go, it is my duty to report you that your father has been murdered." He stated coldly. Her façade immediately broke – her eyes widened and tears started gathering in them. Her voice had become shaky and her skin turned even more pale than usual. "He was assassinated." The guard added.

"What? When?"More shock ran through her body, though now anger was boiling as well. She muttered, the guard looked at her, examining her reaction. Realizing it was genuine he lowered his voice before delivering the details.

"We were told this morning; apparently the killer had trailed him down to Acre. It happened sometime in the afternoon yesterday. I am sorry girl, though what worries me the most is not your father's death. And I am sure that deep inside you are worrying about the same thing. With your father dead, there is no one left to pay for the ransom. Of course all of his estates were left to you but since you are a woman, they shall be passed on to your fiancé. That would signify no problem, except that he has gone missing as well."

And now, guilt had joined the hopelessness and the anger boiling in Amira's blood. 'If I had not sent him,' she would begin saying in her head, thought she would not bear to finish the thought. Things could've been easier, so much easier. But she had decided to complicate things. She could have left with him the night before. She could have let him pay for the ransom. She could be at her house with her best friend, her fiancé.

"Stop it with the could-have's," a soft voice echoed somewhere in her head. It was familiar though she knew she had never heard a person utter it before. "Focus, we can't let them win." The voice faded and she opened her eyes, again facing the man who had delivered the news to her.

"We are going to mobilize you in a couple of hours. Your wounds will be treated and you will be properly fed. You are expected to arrive in Jerusalem in about two days, considering all the stops you will have to do along the way. As of now, your estate has been taken over by the estate, and it will remain on a stand by manner until you find a way to reclaim it or your fiancé resurfaces." He pulled out the same bunch of keys Adnan had held before and opened the lock. The door slowly opened, and the guard, on an act of unexpected chivalry offered her his hand to help her get up. Hesitantly, she took it. He pulled her to her feet and guided her towards the outside, where a carriage waited for her. She looked at the warden and sighed. She walked towards the carriage and stepped in. She was expecting a dirty and smelly cabin, judging from what it looked from the outside. Though, when she stepped in, there was a very nice and comfortable sense to it. I was soft and pretty, like the ones his father's caravans used. It was just what she needed, after a day in a stone cold prison. The warmth of the seats was just what she had expected. And it would have been perfect, if not for the man already sitting inside.

"Amira, I see you have finally made it," he said, addressing her as if they were close.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I know who you are." She replied to the young man. He was a foreigner, she could tell by the very light and pinky color of his skin. His eyes were light blue, almost like the man she had seen in her dreams. He had a certain accent as well, that clearly demonstrated that he was not from those lands.

"I am Lieutenant Aldrich Ainsworth. It is my pleasure to meet you, willow."


	9. Chapter 9: Willow Pt 1

**Chapter Nine: Willow Pt. 1**

She stared at the man blankly, not uttering one word.

"I am sorry," she said, "What did you call me?"

The man chuckled; a very sweet smile was spread across his face. His eyes seemed to be glowing with delight, a delight she knew not where it came from.

"Willow," he repeated, "like the tree. I don't think you have them here, but we have some in England. They are quite majestic, like you."

"Oh, right." She said, she was still staring at the man, blankly.

He sighed and folded his arms across his chest. The carriage had begun moving and Amira immediately took a glimpse outside from the small window. They were soon leaving the prison behind and the bright city of Damascus.

As if reading the nostalgia that spread across her face, the knight, lt. Aldrich spoke to her in a very reassuring voice. "We are taking you to the hospital right now. The wound in your head has to be treated and your foot might need some bandaging. You will be taken to Jerusalem when that is taken care of."

"Why are you here, sir?" she asked ignoring what he had said.

"Well, truth be told, I just wanted to see you myself. Unlike you I cannot see you in my dreams." Her eyes widened, how would he know what she could see? But at least that cleared up one thing, he was indeed, the man in her dream.

"Let me tell you a story, the hospital is not too far away, but I think you might enjoy it." He smiled at her, looking at her dearly. He looked at her like if she was a treasure – shiny and useful, but an object nonetheless. In his eyes, she was not much of a person; she was below him, below anybody else. In his eyes, she was not Amira, she was willow.

"There was once this girl in Rome. She was the daughter of an average man, and an average woman yet, there was nothing average about that girl. She had dark hair, curly and soft. Her skin was very pale, yet it was soft and smooth. Her eyes were especially beautiful, they were a shade of green and blue combined – a color no person had seen before. She was quite smart too, very lively and charming. She could have been called the perfect girl in that wretched empire, but she had one terrible flaw. She was very stubborn. She wanted only one thing in life, only that one thing. She wanted to be a princess, or anybody from a distinguished social status. She wanted to be admired by everybody, her beauty exalted and praised. She wanted to be pampered with beautiful and expensive things. She wanted to live in a mansion with no comparison and be treated by hundreds of maids. And she had let her father know that the only way for her to be happy was if she became the princess she strived to be."

"Her father, being a kind man, tried his hardest to treat her like a princess. He very well knew that, given their social condition, getting her to marry to the nobility would be a very difficult task, if not impossible. Still, all of his efforts were in vain for no matter what she did, the girl would never be pleased. On the verge of desperation he decided that if him, a mere mortal, could not accomplish such a task, then the gods might capable of doing so. The man went to one of the temples and prayed to the god – though I cannot recall which of their many gods was called upon. The god, claiming to be benevolent, presented himself to the poor man. He heard his request and asked him to bring the girl, if she was like he described her, she would be granted her wish. The girl was presented to the god, her beauty was able to match the one described by her father but her attitude was a tad different. She showed up in the temple demanding – not pleading or just, you know, saying please – that her wish was granted. Infuriated, the God told her that she would not have anything. But the man, quickly got on his knees and begged, with his heart in his hand, to ignore her and to do such a thing for him. It was his idea after all, and it was him who would be willing to pay the price. The girl, unmoved by her father's sacrifice, simply stood there smirking at the God. Again, to honor his self-proclaimed benevolence, the God gave in to the man's pleadings."

"He was going to give her what he wanted; he was going to marry his daughter to an important and wealthy general in the army. But he was also to add something else, a little perk. He was going to borrow something from her, something he said he would return only when needed. And she would need them, when he bestowed the curse upon her. Eager, without even wondering about the curse and what she was to lose, she agreed. At that very moment, the God stretched out his hand, and placed two of his fingers on the girl's closed eyes. When she opened them again, once his hand had been pulled back, the aquamarine color that made her eyes gorgeous had faded. Her beauty remained intact, nonetheless."

"That same day, as she left the temple, she stumbled upon the man that was going to marry her. He was handsome, he was kind, and he was definitely wealthy. He was the man she had always wanted, the man who would treat her like a princess. That very same day she moved in to his mansion. Her room was splendid, beautiful, and overwhelmed by the luxury that surrounded her, she suddenly started feeling very sleepy. She lay on the bed and the moment she closed her eyes she entered the dream realm – a place that the gog that had granted her wish could easily manipulate. In her dream she could see as her mother died a horrible death. She woke up scared but realized that it was a mere dream, nothing that might come true. But how wrong she was, the next morning someone had told her that her mother had been killed and it had happened just like she had seen in dreams."

"Upon hearing the news she rushed to the God's temple and asked him just what was happening to her. 'It is your curse,' he replied, nonchalantly, 'what is worse, girl, for a man to be stuck in a dream that he can never wake up from or for a man to not be able to dream at all?' he asked in return. The girl dropped to her knees, crying. 'Most would not consider such thing a curse, for I am letting enter the realm of time and space,' the God explained, ignoring her tears, 'You are entering a place that no mortal has ever been to. As you experience yesterday, the person who can enter to that place can witness events from the future before they happen and, though this you don't know, the events from the past as well. Normally, those who have access to see these things have the power to change them but you will not be allowed such a thing. You will only be able to see tragedy, disease and destruction, for if you ever speak about it, or try to fight it, your life will be extinguished instead.'"

Amira had been so absorbed in the story she had not noticed the carriage had finally stopped moving. They were standing outside the hospital.

"We are here," the lieutenant whispered, his voice changing from the melodic and poetic tone of voice he had used whilst reciting the story to the normal, relaxed voice of his. She looked at him, incredulous.

"You are not going to finish?" she asked him, her pulse racing eager to hear more. Aldrich laughed, and the pink on his cheeks grew stronger.

"I will when they are done with you in the hospital. So, come on, off you go." He said opening the door for her. He stepped down first, and held his hand for her to use as a support. She landed neatly on both feet, though the fall was not more than a meter high, the pain that shot through her ankle was obvious in her face. He grimaced when he noticed and ended up putting her arm around his shoulders.

"I'll help you get there." He said, not allowing her the right to refuse. They entered the hospital in such a fashion, earning some good stares from the people inside. Upon seeing his uniform, the men inside rushed to help the girl. She looked back at him, as they took her away to the examining room. He waved his hand at her and smiled.

"Wait, lieutenant" she said, the man holding her halted and Aldrich, who had already turned his back to her, turned back around. "What was her name?"

He smirked at her, and shot just one more smile at her, before responding: "That you'll find out later." He motioned the man to resume to their job as she sighed in disagreement. They took her through some curtains, which led them to the examining room. The place was cold and empty, giving off quite the unhealthy vibe. The medic that was to treat her stepped inside, he had a very soft and very calmed face. He started working on her, placing certain herbs on her cuts, which he assured would help them cicatrize. He did much of the work in silence and so, time seemed to drag out longer for her. She was inside for about four hours, though it seemed like ages to her.

When she stepped outside, she saw the man who had accompanied her throughout her journey, talking avidly to another man, one of the hospital's staff she assumed. He quickly noticed her, standing upright by the curtains, the pain on her foot was completely gone and as such, she could stand perfectly. He excused himself from whomever he was conversing with, and joined her as she exited the hospital. To her surprise and greatest discontent, the carriage she had been riding was gone, and replaced with a simple cart.

"A cart?" she asked in disbelief. "I am going to horseback ride all the way to Jerusalem?"

"No, no, you will not have to such a thing," Aldrich assured her, patting the cart, telling her that she was to ride in it.

"You can't be serious? Only condemned prisoners undergo the shame of riding in a cart!" She exclaimed. Aldrich looked at her, a teasing smirk on his face.

"Oh, right." She muttered hopping into the cart. A man which was sitting in a bench across from them quickly got up when he saw her doing it. He jumped into the horse and looked back at the girl sitting behind him. He smiled politely and then turned around.

"So you are not riding with me?" She asked the lieutenant.

"No, I am not riding in the cart with you, but I am to escort you. I will be riding my own horse." He explained. She sighed and stretched out her hands for him; he smiled at her and shook his head. "No, restraining you will not be necessary," he assured. He let out quite the loud whistle and three more men, every one of them in their horses arrived. One of the men was pulling a beautiful black stallion with him, which she immediately assumed belonged to the lieutenant. He hopped on the horse, with ease, and the man pulling the cart started moving forward.

The lieutenant placed himself to her right, the position closest to her, while another one of his men placed himself to the left. The other two were covering the rear end of the cart, side by side. She sighed again, and took a glance at the lieutenant.

"Be patient," he ordered her, "this may be the last time you see this city, so enjoy it. Once we exit the gates I will resume." She took a deep breath and, making herself as comfortable as she could, started doing as he'd ask. She was trying to burn the image in her mind. She knew he was right; even if she did not get executed there was still a chance she might never return to Damascus. She never liked the city much; she thought it was dusty, hot, dry and dirty. It was until that time, as she was riding to uncertainty that she finally appreciated the beauty of the 'Golden City of Damascus' as her father used to call it.


	10. Chapter 10: Willow Pt 2

Chapter Ten: Willow pt. 2

The city flashed by faster than she would have wanted and her feelings were more altered than she expected. She had, unwillingly and without noticing, shed a few tears; probably the first ones she had every shed since her brother's death. The lieutenant, who had kept a professional distance from her as they traveled within the city, immediately got closer to her as they were far enough from the city gate.

"If only I had known that not hearing the end would make you cry, I would have not made you wait." He said to her, his voice very light. He was wearing the proper uniform now – that including the helmet and the sword that characterized knights. Amira laugh at his comment and wiped the last tear from her face before it managed to get to her cheek.

"Would you mind carrying on," she said, almost pleading.

"Only if you say please," he teased her.

"For a member of the Templar Knights, you are must too childish." She complained and he laughed. "_Please?_" She said mockingly.

"Not all of us are old, cranky men, willow," he replied, getting his horse even closer to the cart. "In fact, some of us are quite entertaining. But that is beyond the point; I am to resume the story. Where did I left off?"

"Where the God was explaining to her the so called curse," she said between giggles.

"So called? Don't you think it's a curse as well?" he asked her, amused.

"No, not entirely, see, even if she could not directly intervene, she could find a way around. Besides, even if you cannot change things, it gives her an advantage. She knows what is going to happen, so she will not be caught by surprise. She will always be ready."

"But the letter from Al Mualim still caught you by surprise," he protested. Her smile quickly faded and he realized he had pressed the wrong button. She did not move. She did not speak. Her eyes remained glued to a random spot on the cart, paying no attention to the world around her. In her head, the words that man had written to her were being heard. _'Your brother is no longer in this world,'_ that specific phrase resonated in her being. She sighed, forcing herself to snap out of her little trance.

"I would ask you how you know about that, but at this point it would not make a difference. Please, do finish the story." She said, her voice quivering. He looked at her, or so it seemed, his face was still covered by the helmet and as such, discerning his emotions was an impossible task. Reading her, however, was quite the easy task. Even that man could've noticed just how much she was hurting at the time.

"So the girl, the new princess," he begun, apparently not minding her feelings, "left the temple, enraged. She did not want to live that way, you see, to her it was a curse. She tried telling her husband, but he did not believe her. She told her father but he, the only one who witnessed the event, told her that once a deal is made with the gods, it cannot be broken. It was only the first day and she was already feeling so helpless, desperate. After hours of crying and whining, she managed to calm herself down. She had no choice but to accept her fate, as horrible as it may be. That night she went to bed and in her dreams, she saw herself talking to the gods, not as a mortal pleading for mercy but as an equal, a mortal still, but someone who they did not look down upon. When she awoke she realized that, just as her dreams can be horrible they can also be reassuring, like the one she had the night before."

"She never complained about her curse after that night. Even though her dreams were becoming more and more horrible as time went on, she would never become weakened by them. She saw how the town she was born in was turned to cinders. She saw how her father passed away, as a tired old man – a tired but nonetheless happy old man. She saw how her own husband died in battle – as a proud soldier of the empire. She began to notice how slowly, as every day and every year was flying by, she was left alone. She had lost everyone who was dear to her. She only had one person left that mattered, her soon to be born child. She was carrying a child when her husband passed away, the only thing left with her."

"The child was born, a little baby girl, as healthy and beautiful as the mother had been. She was happy for the first time in a long time, for the loneliness had crept away. But her happiness was to not last long, that same night she had another dream. She dreamt that a mad man was to set their mansion on fire, as well as most of the rich district. She had seen how every room caught fire and crumbled to pieces, killing everybody in the place. Engulfed in fear and pain, she woke up, took her baby and got ready to get as far away from the place as she possibly could. But since she could not change the course of her history, the mansion started burning as she tried to escape. She got out of it though, to find every other building in the vicinity burning. She knew there was no escape, not for her at least. The god had told her that she would never be able to change anything unless she was willing to die for it. As she saw the body of her newborn baby, sleeping soundly against her chest even though the noise around them was almost deafening, she decided that it was finally time for her to sacrifice herself."

"She ram, with the baby in her arms, towards the temple of the god that had granted her wish. It was as spotless as usual; the fire which had covered every building seemed to be present in the temple. 'Do you know what this means?' he asked her as she set the baby on the temple's floor. 'Yes.' She whispered softly, kissing her baby lightly on the forehead."

"'You see, all my life I have been the spectator. I have seen everything, I have felt everything, but I have never had a say. I lived with it, I managed to because I told myself that everything happened for a reason; I told myself that sooner or later I was meant to lose them. I enjoyed a life with my father and mother, I enjoyed my life with my husband. I know they enjoyed it as well – through the ups and downs because they had a chance at living. But a baby still has not gotten a chance. And, I don't want it to be my fault that an innocent child dies. You are to take my soul, I am aware, and my body ashes it shall become. But, please grant me one last wish.'" She was, by then, on her knees pleading. 'My selfishness made me ask of you something I did not deserve and even when I got it, I was never able to accomplish such a thing. A princess, it was foolish of me, wasn't it? A princess does not suffer; a princess does not anger the gods. My daughter still has no name, so the last thing I'd like to give her is all I never got. Her name, I want it to mean 'princess'."

"The God, moved because of her sacrifice, agreed to such a thing. It did not take long before the fire entered the temple, burning down everything and everyone around it. The god had one of his messengers pick up the newborn child and carry her away to safety. She was raised by the God who had granted her mother's wish, because he felt guilty for all the tragedy she had made her live through. He realized as she grew up, that her mother's curse had been passed on to her, she could also see things that were bound to come. He tried to undo the curse, but it was wrapped around every inch of her body. He couldn't remove it, he realized at some point, but he could change it. He allowed the girl to weave in the net of time and space. She could, unlike her mother, change the things that were to happen without risking her life. Of course there was a limit to her interference, he could grant her complete control, but it was enough to ease the pain she was bound to feel as her life progressed. Though, no matter how much she could change things, there will come a point where the only way to save what she loves is to give her own life in return. "

"That can't be the end," Amira complained, when she noticed he was not going to keep on talking. "You have got to be kidding me."

"I removed some details here and there, but they don't really matter much. And it's true, her story continues but it is much too long for me to elaborate. I am going to bore you to death."

"Can I ask you some questions then?" she asked, for he seemed to be the kind of man you cannot argue with. He laughed quietly and nodded a yes.

"You never mentioned their names, the girl's and her daughter."

"I know what their name's meant, but I don't know their actual names. The mother, her name was Willow and the girl's, well I guess you can guess. "

"Okay," Amira said. "So why do you call me Willow?"

"I think it fits don't you? You look a lot like the girl described." He said, taking off his helmet and placing it between his legs. She looked at him, he definitely had other reasons for calling her such, and he clearly did not want to share. But, for her to assume that the reason he called her that was because she could do what that woman could was too conceited of her. Besides, such a thing is preposterous, ridiculous and just not possible. That's what she told herself, at least. More importantly, she wanted to know how he knew about the letter she had received. Nobody but Adnan knew of its existence, not even her father. Even if Adnan had spread the word, there was no way they'd know whether or not it caught her by surprise. There was just something about him that made her distrust him.

Silence started to creep in. Besides them, there was nobody else speaking, no one else daring to say one word. With their silence, all that could be heard was the sound of the horse's steady pace and the occasional gush of wind that will sweep by. She was buried in her thoughts, trying to figure out the man that kept on calling her willow.

She gazed up at the sky to see the few clouds that dared present themselves in the sky. The sun was starting its way down, towards the west, though its heat was still present. She closed her eyes and inhaled, around her was nothing but patches of green and brown. The road they followed was surrounded by a thin line of grass as well as the occasional tree or two. It was mostly barren, except for the occasional posts of guards around the kingdom.

The sun was now finally setting and she had not uttered one word and neither had he. So when the man finally spoke, she was startled. His voice was different than the one he used around her, his voice more arrogant, more commanding. It was the voice of a lieutenant, of a knight.

"I am amazed," he said, pulling his horses' reigns, bringing him to a stop. The men around him stopped from advancing and so did her little cart. She quickly turned around to see just what might have made the man speak and quickly realized the reason. "You people found out about her faster than I had expected," the lieutenant spoke. He turned to look at her and smiled reassuringly.

In front of them a man she was too familiar with stood, looking their way. Behind him, the city of Jerusalem could be seen at a distance. There was still quite the large distance to cover, a couple of towns to cross, before arriving at Jerusalem. Her eyes were fixed on the man across from her, refusing to move her glare though his presence was causing her to feel dizzy, nauseated and someone in pain. The lieutenant saw her reaction and cringed a tad, as if feeling her unexpressed pain.

"Aldrich Ainsworth," the assassin spoke in his low voice, almost as authoritative as the knight's. "I am here for the girl, not for you."

* * *

Author's Ranting:

So it came to my attention, after an afternoon of reading random articles in wikipedia, that carriages were not invented until the seventeenth century...in England. A little fact that has made me very, very, very annoyed. So, I apologize for my little historical mistake and I promise it will never happen again - at least, not that big of a mistake. As for the story, Altair is back... and he wants the girl. Though I am not sure she wants him.

To DreamCloud93: A really big thank you for all your support. And I would've accepted Adnan's help, too. ;)


	11. Chapter 11: What?

**Chapter Eleven: What?**

"And do you expect me to just hand her over?" Aldrich asked him as he dismounted from his horse. "You know I cannot do that."

"Then you will leave me with no choice," Altair said, unsheathing his sword. A smirk appeared on the Lieutenant's face, drawing his sword as well. The men that were riding with them, the other guards, also dropped from their horses, pulling their weapons out. Aldrich's smile grew wider as he heard them approach. It was a smile of certain victory.

'Four against one is not fair,' Amira thought. She suddenly found herself in a situation she had never been before; she was worrying for the assassin. She quickly shrugged that thought off her head to allow a new one to cross by. If they are all going to start fighting, who will be looking out for her? It would be a wonderful chance for an escape, risky but wonderful. There was a small town close by; she could hide there for a while. 'And then?' she asked herself. And the worry started flowing again. She could not go back to Damascus, she was homeless. And so, another thought stopped by her head, if they were to just kill her, she would not have to worry about anything else. Her father was dead, her brother was dead and her best friend had gone missing. She was alone. Nobody would miss her and nobody would be bothered by her death. She would finally be able to join the people she loved – if the promises of the afterlife were true.

The sound of metal hitting metal woke her up from her little daydream though the sight she faced was not was she was expecting. She was expecting to see the guards, the knights, fighting the assassin but instead, they were being slaughtered by the lieutenant himself. 'What the hell?' she thought. She looked at the assassin, and she could tell that he was probably as surprised as she was. Just then she realized that doing such was going to remind him of her existence.

"No, not again," she whispered before she jumped off the cart. He sheathed his sword and started running towards her. Instinct kicking in again, she thought about running away, but as she started her run she felt something pulling her back.

"Oh, great," she said, when she noticed her long gown was stuck on one of the nails that held the cart's wooden boards together. She sighed and started pulling on the fabric, hoping it would let go of her. She was tugging with all her strength but it still seemed futile. In the battle of the dress and the female, the dress was surely winning. She sighed, exasperated, and gave one last tug to her clothes, hoping that she might at least, harm it a little bit. She closed her eyes and pulled this time managing to set herself free. Though, she had not done it by herself, it was in fact the assassin's blade what managed to free her. She looked up; she had stumbled backwards and landed on the floor, to see the assassin standing, intimidating, right in front of her. Her eyes widened in shock before yelling: "Behind you!"

Altair turned around moving his sword instinctively to protect himself from the blow the Lieutenant had aimed at him. Aldrich pulled his sword back and struck again, three consecutive hits. Altair was able to defend himself from the blows, but was unable to counterattack. The lieutenant started laughing, enjoying the fight with the assassin. He moved backwards, creating some space between them.

"I was just saving the best for last," he said, moving his sword teasingly, "Did you really think I'd forget you?" He did not wait for a reply and dashed towards Altair again. Altair jumped backwards, dodging the hit and leaving the lt., wide opened. He switched to offense and struck, two consecutive and very fast hits, both which were blocked. The lt., smiled and dodged backwards just like Altair had - a wonderful mimic he turned out to be. He ran towards Altair and grabbed him by the clothes at the front of his neck, smiling widely. Altair punched him once, but he did not let go of the grip. Blood had started to pour from his broken nose, when he ended up deciding to shove the assassin's body to where Amira was still sitting, eyes wide, contemplating the fight before her.

He landed next to her, trying not to hurt her with his blade. She quickly got up and kneeled besides the man.

"Are you okay?" she whispered, hesitating whether to touch him or not. He glanced in her direction but did not reply to her comment. He got back up to his feet, picking up his sword. The lieutenant was staring at him, like a jaguar stares at the innocent deer before digging its teeth in the prey's neck. His eyes were gleaming faintly, some kind of blood lust taking over his normally cool nature.

"Come on, don't disappoint me," he taunted, playing with his sword, hoping to get the assassin angry enough. He succeeded, faster than he had expected for Altair ran towards him as soon as he composed himself. He swung his blade at the lieutenant, but he dodged, and swiftly punched him in the stomach, causing him to fall to his knees.

"Is this all you can do?" Aldrich spoke again, his voice with the clear intent of mocking Altair who glared at him, infuriating. Aldrich chuckled, "By that look on your face I can tell that you are not use to losing," he stated. Altair got up and attempted to hit him again, but was again countered, kicked by the lieutenant. On the floor again, Altair looked up to check on the girl, who was staring at him, tears falling from her eyes. Aldrich noticed her as well and started laughing.

"Ah, so you saw it," he said, a smirk on his face, "How was it Willow? Was it painful or was it not?"

"It wasn't," she muttered under her breath. She knew what was to come was going to be quite painful, but what Aldrich did not know was that the assassin was not going to be the only one getting hurt.

Altair rose to his feet again, his temper getting the best of him, and ran at him again. His blows were stronger now, faster, still Aldrich did not seem the least troubled. He was toying with him, not bothering to attack seriously. He wanted to drive Altair to the limits of his composure. He swung his sword again but missed.

"Damn it," he said, his voice filled with anger.

The men were still fighting, Aldrich still holding the upper hand. Altair struck again just to get blocked, and he was now wide open. Aldrich took his chance and landed on swift cut on Altair's arm and he was about to execute the second blow when Amira decided to attempt a tackle on him causing him to lose his footing. He stumbled backwards a bit but quickly regained his balance. Even though she did not pin him to the ground, the chain mail armor was much too heavy for her to move, she did manage to stop him from slashing Altair in half.

"Why, you little –," he said, turning his attention from Altair to her. "This is not the way it is meant to happen," he complained. Amira stared at him, smirking.

"She had the power to change, didn't she?" she said, teasingly. It was like a little fire was ignited within her. Her desire of death had vanished, and she wanted nothing but to fight him. She wanted to fight him, until she made him bleed, and he could see that – her intent. He sighed before landing a punch on her face. She fell backwards, the strength of the man greater than her own, but she did not utter a sound of pain. Instead she got up her feet again, as quickly as she could. Her eyes, which normally were a very dark shade of brown, seemed to, for a moment, glow a light shade of blue. This time her smirk grew wider, as she taunted the lieutenant. "Careful behind you," she said when she noticed Altair was moving in on him. He turned his back to her quickly to defend himself from the other man whose strength he seemed to have underestimated. His hit this time was stronger than the last time, much stronger, almost impossible to block. He quickly lost his mocking attitude and it would seem that for the first time in the entire fight he was willing to fight seriously.

He tried to kick Altair, who easily dodged and countered with quite the stylish attack. The lieutenant shoved his blade between his body and Altair's sword, saving him from a nice stab wound in the chest.

"I don't have time for this," he said taking the sword with both his hands. He moved towards Altair and, drove the blade at him faster and stronger than he would ever expect, finally managing to land a significant hit on him. He had managed to cut his abdomen, though the armor he wore around it cushioned the blow, the cut was still very long and deep – very dangerous indeed. He fell to his knees, before he fell forward.

"Assassin!" Amira yelled, before running towards him. The blood was starting to flow once again, covering the dirty road with its crimson shade. The lieutenant, however, pulled her hair and shoved her again to the ground. This time, since the sudden rush of bloodlust had left her, a light scream of pain escaped her throat.

"Here I am, trying to protect you, and this is how you pay me by trying to save the assassin?" he asked her, his voice showing mild anger.

"You were going to take me to execution, how is that trying protect me?" She asked him in return. Her eyes were growing teary again, because in the end, even with her intervention the result had been the same.

"I never planned to take you there!" he yelled, "Why would a Templar be assigned to escort a prisoner from Saracen? For someone who was thought to be so bright, you really don't see things. Oh, dear but things sure have gotten bloody now."

"That is not my fault," she replied, sounding like a stubborn child as she was reprimanded.

"I never said it was, if anyone should be to blame it should be him," he pointed at Altair, who lay motionless on the floor. "Their desire to kill is much greater than anything in their lives, even greater than their desire for peace."

"Not all of them are like that," Amira whispered, though he still managed to hear what she had spoken.

"Don't go thinking your brother was a saint. He was the one who had your master killed. Anyways, I can't take you with me anymore since, I presume, you don't want to leave the assassin here to die." He sighed and dug his hand into one of the compartments their armor had, pulling out a small bag. He tossed it at her, and by the jingling sound it made, she quickly realized that it was filled with gold.

"Take this. There is a small town nearby; though I am sure you knew that by now. I am sure it will suffice to cover your needs." He said, finally sheathing his sword. "If you plan on taking him with you, I advise you to hurry guards will start their patrols in about two hours."

"Thank you," Amira spoke, her voice soft and fragile like Aldrich always thought a girl's voice should be. He smiled at her, a very sweet and comforting smile, kneeling down to her. He placed his hands on her cheeks and whispered: "For you, Willow, anything." Amira blushed slightly, right before he decided to press his lips against hers, softly. She felt the blood rising to her cheeks, causing her to feel a little extra hot. He smirked, pulling himself away from her.

"I'll be back before you know it," he said, as he mounted one of the two horses that had remained in the place during their fight. He winked at her before hitting the horse with the reigns, causing it to move forward, pulling the cart along with him. The other horse simply stayed there, looking at her as if awaiting orders. She sighed, her face still pink. Now that the lieutenant was gone, she had a very big and bloody problem to deal with. She had to find a way to move the assassin, with her, towards the village to the east of where she was. It was only a good two hundred meters away, she could see the houses and the lights, she could easily get there on her own. But how the hell would she carry the assassin to that place? She could be able to move him, even if she tried.

'Now I am screwed,' she said when the pessimism started to flow in her veins yet again. Tears were falling from her eyes again, quietly creeping down her cheeks. The same feeling of helplessness was overpowering her, rendering her unable to move. Bound to the ground with the weight of guilt and sorrow, she could do nothing but weep. Or so she thought, but, as if an angel had heard her cries from the heavens a couple of young men were approaching her. They had come from behind her, each one carrying an oil lantern with them.

"Do you need help, young lady?" one of them asked. Amira looked at him, smiling with relief and wiped the tears of her face.

"I was on my way to Jerusalem when a group of thieves attacked me and my escort," she said trying to sound as convincing as possible. "They killed the guards and they hurt my bodyguard really badly. I was lucky to stay alive. I would really appreciate it if I could reach the village east from here, before they decide to return for me."

"Sure thing," the other one replied. "For a girl as pretty as you, we'd do anything."


	12. Chapter 12: Wounds

Chapter Twelve: Wounds

When Altair woke up he found himself in quite the comfortable place – he was lying over some very soft pillows and a very warm sheet was spread over him. The dirty floor he recalled had vanished, as well as the blood and the pain. He was in the dreamer´s limbo at that point – trying to decipher what is reality and what is a fake. It would not be until he felt the footsteps of someone walking nearby that he decided to completely wake up.

The place where he lay was very different from what he was expecting; it was just a good old barn with an improvised bed. It was big, nonetheless, and even though it was full of hay, the atmosphere was not suffocating. There were windows too, which allowed the cold breeze of night to creep in. It wouldn't be a couple of hours until sunrise, yet the place did not seem as dark as usual. There was an oil lamp, a tad farther away from where he was laying, which was the reason everything was brighter than it should be. He was indeed, surrounded by pillows, as he lay in quite the comfortable and thick rug, the kind that the nobles have in their own palaces.

He tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in his abdomen did not make it an easy task. It was then when he realized that the he had been stripped of all the weapons he was used to carrying. His chest was bare too and mostly covered by the bandages that were gently wrapped around it. The footsteps he had heard seemed to be approaching him. He was unarmed, yet he was already trying to figure out a way to attack the person nearing him. When she finally came to his view, he launched himself towards her, pinning her against the wall – his hand in her throat.

"Who are you?" he asked the young woman, who had by then, dropped all the things she was carrying.

"It's me, Amira," she said, struggling to breathe. He stared at her, for the woman he had in front of him was very different from the one he remembered. She smiled at him and it was then that he realized that the only person who could smile at a man while he was choking her was indeed that girl. He let go of her and she kneeled down to pick up the things she was carrying.

"How are you feeling," she asked as she tried to stuff the things back into the basket.

"Where are my weapons?" He asked in return, sounding more aggravated than usual.

"I asked you first, assassin. Don't expect people to answer your questions, if you are not willing to answer theirs." She said, folding her arms across her chest. Her hair, which used to be long and curly, only retained the last quality. It had been cut so that it would reach a couple of inches before her shoulders, much shorter than it used to be. Her eyes too, seemed to have gotten a little bit lighter, but then the lamp's light could be blamed for that, and they also wore some dark bags underneath, exposing to the world her lack of sleep. Her clothes were very different as well; she was no longer wearing her fancy nightgown or what remained of it. She had instead chosen to wear some pants and a short sleeve shirt which exposed the scars on her arms.

"I am fine," he replied through gritted teeth and she smiled again.

"I hid them. Don't worry most of them are still safe," Amira said, before pulling him with her back to the bed she had improvised in the barn.

"What do you mean most of them?" He said, pulling his hand away from her, raising his voice again. She sighed and made her way to the warm corner with the basket in her hands. She kneeled as she started to pull out some of the contents of her basket.

"I thought you might be hungry," she said tossing a fruit at him. "I am sorry, but I was forced to use some of your knives." She said as she took a bit out of her very own little fruit. "You can stand there all you want, or you could come here and join me." She said when she noticed Altair had not relinquished his desire to be cranky. He sighed and walked towards her, sitting down across from her.

"Why did you have to use the knives?" he said, still refusing to take a bite out of his food.

"I think that by now your wounds should've healed enough to let you move, but I don't think you should push yourself too hard. It must hurt like hell."

"It seems you are not the kind who does as she preaches," he stared at her, his eyes demanding his question be answered. She chuckled, in her head thinking: 'touché, assassin, touché.'

"It seems that I am good at attracting trouble," she said, stretching her back slowly, "I ran into some more trouble and well, since you were unconscious I thought I might borrow them for a while but, you know them thieves." She sighed and reached back into the basket. She had all kinds of things inside thought most of them were fruits. She pulled out a piece of cloth and a container with some water in it. She took the smaller piece of cloth and damped it a bit, before reaching towards Altair. He moved back, acting on his reflexes, and she just glared at him.

"I have to change your bandages; if we don't keep the wound clean then it might get infected. If the wound gets infected you might be in some serious trouble." She explained to him, trying to convince him to let her touch him. She leaned in again but this time he did not move. She pulled the knot that held the bandaged together, making them come undone. She got up from where she was sitting, taking with her the clean set of bandages. She sat behind him and started to unwrap the clothes from his chest.

"I am sorry," she whispered, as her fingers trailed the scar that was beginning to form in his chest. The wound was finally cicatrizing, which was a relief for Amira. He had been unconscious for three days in a row, which not only made her task of changing his bandages harder, it also let her wondering whether he was feeling fine or not. "It's my fault you got hurt," she said, her voice trailing off.

"It was not your fault; it was my lack of ability. That's all." He said bitterly. She sighed bitterly, only wondering what he was really thinking – wondering if he could remember their little fight as vividly as she could. He did not lack ability, quite the opposite; he was a very skilled man. It was almost impossible to believe that someone as good as him was defeated because that would imply that there was someone even better.

"I don't think he won fairly," she said in a whispered, as the images were playing in her head, slowly. She did not know how, or why, but, the fight was very different for her than for him. She could see one step ahead of them both; she could see when either of them was going to strike before they did. It was a weird feeling – it was awkward and somewhat painful. She had been trying to focus, to make it work for her, but it seemed to present itself only when it was not being called for. The lieutenant, however, seemed to be able to take advantage of her visions, even though she never communicated them to him. She knew he could not see them on his own, for he would have not questioned her back then. What she could conclude, was not entirely more comforting. If he could see anything, that was everything that went on in her head – the limits of such ability unknown to her.

"I think," Altair said, slowly, hesitating whether to finish his sentence or not, "I think I should thank you." He snapped her back from her thoughts – she was drifting way too deep into them more often. She reached for another flask from the basket. She also brought out of the cozy basket a smaller piece of cloth, which already seemed to be slightly stained with red.

"There's no need to thank me," she said, "this was my fault, remember."

He was about to reply when she opened the bottle she had pulled out, the fragrance of which quickly filled the room.

"Wine?" he asked as she soaked the piece of cloth with it in turn. She smiled at him before offering him the remaining wine.

"Take a sip, it will make things easier," she advised. Though it was not as strong as she might've wished for, the wine would be more than enough to ease the pain that was about to come.

"I don't drink," he said, coldly, giving the container back at her. She sighed and drank some herself.

"You are much too stubborn, assassin," she whispered before placing the wine dampened cloth against his wound, causing him to groan in pain. She pulled the rag back, immediately. Even though changing his bandaged when he was unconscious was harder, she never had to hear him complain, and so she contemplating the idea of putting him to sleep for a while longer. She cleared her throat, pushing that thought out of her mind, and pushing the cloth back into his wound.

"What do you think you are doing?" He yelled at her, turning around to take a grip on her hand, to stop her from continuing the mild torture. "Do you even know what you are doing?"

She smiled at him, the same smiled she used when being choked earlier. She smiles, because she thought that if he was to kill her, she might as well die with a smile on her face. "I know what I am doing, assassin," she responded, sounding confident of her answer. Though the reason to why she knew what she was doing was going to be harder to explain.

"How exactly did you learn this, woman?" he asked her, trying to hide the pain that the alcohol was causing when touching his not so open anymore, wound.

"I think I am one of the few women in this world who can read, write and whatnot. I completed the trivium courses with my master. And I was finally going to get into the deep stuff when you…intervened." She explained, now placing the cloth with water over his abdomen, the cold of it easing the burning sensation he had experienced a while back. His muscles had loosened up a bit, making Amira smile. She was however, still hiding the fact that – as crazy as it may sound – she was told what to do in one of the dreams she had. That girl with the short hair who looked a lot like her had manifested herself again, giving her some instructions as to what to do with his wounds. She kept on complaining about there not being enough equipment, but she eventually came up with a solution. 'Whoever she is, I hope I get the chance to talk to her more often' Amira had wished that very night.

"Well," she said as she finished wrapping the new bandages around his well defined chest. "I believe I am all done here." Altair was about to stand up when she pulled him back down again, "I still have to deal with your arm," she said pointing at the smaller, yet still existent, wound that he had on his arm.

"Don't worry about it," he was trying to let her go of him, but this time her grip was firmer than before. He glared at her and she simply let go of his arm, dropping her own hands. Her face had turned paler than usual but her eyes seemed to be getting brighter.

"Fine," she agreed, "but in return please eat that or at least have some water." She said, almost pleading. "If you don't eat then it will take longer for you to recover. And you should be sleeping, too."

"As I said," Altair spoke, finally taking a bite out of the fruit he was given. "You are not the kind who does as she preaches. When was the last time you had a full night of sleep?"

She chuckled as she tried to make herself comfortable, she had moved away from the assassin, allowing him to be the only one sitting near the big pile of pillows.

"It's okay," she said, trying to repress a yawn, "I am not tired." It was clear that she was lying and he was not hesitant to call on her bluff.

"Are you afraid I might kill you in your sleep?" he asked her causing her to burst into a nice and soft laughter, her cheeks turning pink.

"No, no, it's nothing like that," she said reassuringly, "I am more worried about the way you will treat that wound when you feel confident enough to be running around again." She was leaning her back on one of the wooden columns that held the barn together, it was probably not the most comfortable position ever, but it was better than lying down on the barren floor.

"How come you don't hate me or anything?" he asked her, catching her off guard with his straight forward manner. She laughed again, though this time it was charged with feelings the other one lacked.

"I can't," she said, with a big smile on her face, "You did what any other assassin would've done and that's the reason why I cannot hold a grudge against you. See, I used to know someone who was just like you – only a tad nicer to me." She giggled when she said that and she could see a faint smile carved on his lips, though she thought it was probably just the lamp light playing a trick on her. "He wanted to be an assassin too, not because he wanted to kill, no, he wanted peace. My mother was murdered when I was a little girl. Guards from Saracen walked into our house in the middle of the night, claiming she was a heathen and killed her on the spot. He tried to help her but, you know them guards, and they decided to use me as hostage, to keep him on the line. In the end we could not do a thing but watch as my mother got slaughtered right in from of us. Later, we found out that the real reason she was murdered was because she had declined the invitation of one of the highest ranking members of the guards, you know, like any married woman with two children would. My point is, that after that night he always craved for a world where people would be treated fairly, everybody the same way. He wanted a world with no corruption, no war. He had quite the idealistic view, and well, I am sure that if it would've been him assigned on a mission, he would've acted just like you. If I was to be mad at you for killing for your cause, it would be like getting mad at him. And that would not be fair, don't you think?" She paused, not really expecting a response. She had spoken more about her brother with him in those few minutes than she had to anybody in the past years. It was always a sore subject for her, because his death was another one of those images that were carved into her head, even though she was not even sure that was the way it occurred.

"Besides," she said, sleep was finally getting to her for after three nights of not sleeping, she couldn't keep up the pretense any longer. "There is something about you that makes me want to be near you. I don't know what it is or why it is, but I just can't bring myself to hate you." She let out a yawn and turned to look at the assassin, who simply stared back at her, his thoughts she could not even attempt to read. She giggled quietly and readjusted her position against the beam.

"You should have some rest," Altair spoke, after the silence had settled. "We will be leaving tomorrow morning, we have to get to Jerusalem."

"Oh, it's okay," Amira replied, trying to act cool. "I am not that tired, besides sunrise is just a couple of hours away." She reassured him, she did not want to fall asleep now that he had woken up.

"As you wish," he desisted. Silence began to creep in once again, though it wasn't the uncomfortable kind. They were both too immersed in thought to bother about the actions of the other person, though they were both thinking about each other.

"Hey," Amira said, being the one responsible to break the silence that time, "what's your name? I can't go around calling you assassin." He looked at her, hesitant. She had already seen his face at that point, so giving her his name couldn't do any more damage.

"It's Altair," he said, almost in a whisper.

"I'm Amira," she replied, eagerly, "it's nice to meet you Altair."

"Don't you think it is a little too late for introductions?"

"Ah, but it is never too late."

***

"Aldrich, I see you are back," The lieutenant was greeted as he entered the castle that belonged to King Richard. He was, though unlikely in him, not in the best of moods and the one person that had presented to greet him was one of the last he would want to see.

"Robert, so _un_pleasant to see you," he replied icily.

His despise for the man was obvious, and Robert was quite aware of it. It seemed however as if Robert enjoyed the hatred that Aldrich held towards him.

"I see you come empty handed, was the assassin too much to handle?" Robert asked him, teasingly, trying to drive the always so cool Aldrich to his limits.

"No, Robert, unlike you I am quite capable at sword handling," he glared at the man, who clearly showed that the remark had, even if just one bit, hurt his ego.

"Then where is the Willow?" Robert pressed on. Aldrich sighed. He could not possibly tell that man that he just left her in the hands of the assassins nor would he acknowledge a defeat he did not suffer. He started walking away from the man, and towards the king's study, the place where he had been summoned to, the moment he arrived at the kingdom.

"She's not with me; she was left back in Jerusalem. I will go get her as soon as I have time," he lied, hoping that would get Robert off his back before he decided to cut him out.

"Could it be that you failed, Lieutenant Aldrich?" Mockery seemed to be quite the strong point in Robert, especially at that very moment. He stopped, and turned to look at the man behind him, contemplating the many ways he could kill him without even giving him the chance to scream.

"Don't push me, Robert, for you know that if we were to fight, you would not emerge victorious," Aldrich's voice now reflected the anger that had started to boil in his blood.

"Oh, but you don't know that, Aldrich, though, we could always try and see," Robert said moving his hands towards the grip of his sword, ready to pull it out at the slightest movement of Aldrich.

"As much as I would love to see the outcome of that fight, I suggest you do so another day," a very deep voice came from the top of the staircase. They, who were standing of the base of it quickly looked up to stare at King Richard as he, with a smile on his face, stood there staring at them with amusement.

"My king," Aldrich said, bowing down to him respectfully while Robert simply stood there. "I apologize for quarreling with this man," he stated. It was amazing to see how he could shift his mood depending on who the person he was interacting with was.

"Oh, worry not, Aldrich, men will always have a reason to fight with each other. May I ask what is the reason of your quarrel?" the kind asked as he made his way downstairs. Aldrich glared at Robert who smirked in return.

"It may seem juvenile, my lord, but it is about a _woman_", Robert said, his smirk even more pronounced now. The king burst out laughing at the comment while Aldrich simply wished for the authorization to stab Robert.

"It is not juvenile, Robert. When two men take interest in the same woman, problems are bound to arise. But, I believe that such problems should be solved with words not with blood. Now, if you excuse us, Aldrich and I have some matters to discuss," the king said before turning away from Robert.

"Please, do, sir," Robert spoke. As they walk away, Aldrich could feel his cold stare perched on his back. Even though Robert was quite the disgraceful snake, he knew that his venom was just as powerful as his. It would not be long before Robert starts questioning Aldrich's loyalty to his cause, which, he should've realized by now, was not as strong as he once thought it was. It would not be long before Robert sends out his own men to look for her. He sighed, as he walked into the meeting room with the king, hoping that the assassin had by then recovered, for what was about to come was going to be much worse than had been until now.

* * *

The author is ranting again...

Hello muffins. I am here once again to basically point out today's top three reasons why it must've been to live in the twelfth century.

1. Bottles: I really do wonder what the hell did people use to carry liquids back then. Though I am sure they did not have any plastic bottles, I could not think of anything else that might be as practical as that. Seriously, where would we be if plastic bottles had not been invented? Oh, we still have bags and what not, but still, plastic bottles are damn useful. And life would be so much worse if we did not have them. It's like toilet paper and pencils and cars - they are _that_ important.

2. Sober: I was not sure whether the wine back in the twelfth century would hold as much alcohol as tequila does nowadays - _thank you mexico, for tequila_ - but I am assuming it had enough to be able to sanitize a wound. If it didn't then, Amira just burned Altair for no reason whatsoever.

3. Trivium: It was a greek method of teaching, it held three main subjects and was pretty much the basics of their education. Since I could not find any info on almighty wikipedia on how the Middle Eastern study system worked, I decided to go for the greek one. Why? Because I love the band, that's why. :D

Oh and one more thing,  
Robert and Aldrich work together, since they are both templar knights, but they don't get along for Robert always thought that annoying Aldrich was a fun hobby. And so every time Aldrich sees him, a beast wakes up inside him and the murderous intent surfaces. So as you can see, they are _very good friends._

_And so, that should be all as far as my ranting goes. See you again in my next update, which might come a tad faster than this one.  
May the force be with you, all._


	13. Chapter 13: Warning

_Chapter Thirteen: Warning_

_She did not remember whether she had fallen asleep or not in that warm barn on the outskirts of Jerusalem. She did not remember whether the assassin had left without her or if he had stayed. She did not know what had happened to herself. She knew a few things, however. She knew she was in a room different than her own, in a house she had never been to before, tied to a chair in someone's bedroom. It was a wonderful place, very beautiful and very bright, but she was bleeding and in terrible pain, unable to enjoy the view. _

"_So you woke up, eh?" she head a man speak, causing her unfocused eyes to settle on a target. He was wearing that very familiar armor, that red cross she had seen on the lieutenant. "You are quite the beautiful creature," his voice had a very noticeable accent. Was it French, perhaps? "It's no wonder Aldrich took a liking to you." Aldrich, she was starting to miss him, even though she hadn't known him for long. "But to go as far as not wanting to turn you in, he deserves such punishment."_

"_What punishment?" she asked, agitated. She did not want him to get hurt, how could she possibly let something happen to him? She'd hurt many people and she'd lost even more, she did not want to add the lieutenant to the body count. _

"_Don't worry, willow, he will be fine. He'll just be demoted and maybe tortured a bit." The man replied, chuckling at the last comment. His face was hidden by the knight's helmet, but she was certain that a wicked smirk was pressed on his face. _

"_It's such a shame, really," he continued as he circled her, "he was one of the King's favorites. Can you imagine? He was his lieutenant without even been Grand Master. The King will be disappointed or won't he, Willow? What's going to happen next? I kindly brought you into my home, the least you can do is tell me a thing or two, though it's not like you have a choice, Willow. You are to become my little pet, right, Little Willow? Because if you don't, I'll make sure they both die."_

"_Don't call me Willow," Amira said, trying to sound confident, defiant. Her will had long been shattered and her morale had long been stripped from her. The man laughed, mockingly. _

"_But that's what you are," he said, approaching her. He kneeled besides her and took her face in his hands, "you are no longer a person. You are __**my**__ pet, __**my**__ willow. You don't exist, so forget about Amira. She's dead." _

_Silence came and darkness started engulfing the scene. It was shifting, turning into something completely different. She could no longer feel the restraints on her body nor could she hear the voice of such a detestable man. Instead, she could hear the voices of two men she was far from detesting. _

"_Where is she?!" the first voice called out from the darkness. The place where she was now was barely lit; a small candle was the only thing trying to give some light to the place. It was moist, however, like the cell in which she had been kept in Damascus. _

"_I don't know," a second voice replied. They were both in deep distress, one clearly showing it more than the other. The figures approach the small candle, finally allowing Amira to see them clearly._

"_Damn it, Assassin!" Aldrich yelled, grabbing Altair by his robes, "the only reason I left her with you was because I thought you could protect her!" Altair pulled away from his gripped and started walking away from him though for a split second Amira could've sworn she saw a preoccupied look on his face. _

"_Don't walk away from me, you heathen! I could kill you if I wanted to!" Aldrich yelled as he followed Altair into the darkness. There was another source of light a couple of meters ahead, though, like the one they had already passed by, the light it emitted was much too faint. _

"_Then do it!" Altair snapped, stopping in his track to face the armored man. "If you are so confident that you can kill me, the go ahead and try. But, you won't, because you need me."_

"_I don't need you!" Aldrich yelled back, his pale face burning red with anger. "This is entirely your fault! How could you possibly think it was safe for her to –," Aldrich could not finish his sentence for Altair had decided to punch him in the face. He stumbled backwards, but never lost his balance. _

"_Silence," Altair said, though his words were unnecessary for the lieutenant had already shut his mouth. He was shocked by the sudden hit and by the realization of the way he was behaving that he no longer intended to say a word. "I'll find her, lieutenant, so just stay quiet." Altair's voice was completely different as he uttered his pledge. There was no indifference, there was no arrogance, it was actual concern. But what had happened that he would be worried? They started walking away, again into the darkness and with that the scene suddenly faded again. _

_The dungeons turned into gardens in a night of clear skies. It was pleasantly cold outside and there was nothing but the sound of the wind to disturb such peace. _

"_Do I always have to order you to bed?" again a familiar voice shook her, Altair was standing behind her as she sat on a concrete bench. "We are moving you again tomorrow. You should rest." His voice was as cold as usual but in the moonlight, his white robes and his confident stance made him look like a completely different person. _

"_I'm sorry," Amira muttered, "I shouldn't have –," _

"_Don't worry about it, just go to sleep. As I said, we are moving again tomorrow." He interrupted her and just as he had swiftly appeared next to her he was starting to leave. But Amira sprung to her feet and dashed towards him, clinging to his arm in order to get his attention. _

"_I am really sorry, assassin. I didn't mean to say such a thing. I'm truly, very sorry." She was met his strong gaze with watery eyes. The guilt that had built up on her chest was much too heavy for her to bear. She had hurt him, she was sure, even though he did not show it. A soft smiled curved on his lips and he freed himself for her grip. _

"_It's okay, just forget about it." Altair replied and resumed his walking away. _

"_But –," _

"_In the time that I've known you," Altair said, looking back at her, "this is only the second time I've seen you cry. As I've already told you, it's alright. Apology accepted." He said the last words with a hit of humor that caused Amira to giggle a bit. _

"_Good night, Altair," she said as he vanished from her sight though she knew that he could not hear her. It was the first time that she referred to him by his name. She could only hear the footsteps of him walking away. She stared at the skies above her refusing to move, it was peaceful just like it had been in her dreams. The night sky shifted one more time taking her to a completely different place. _

_This time the place was warmer, sunnier, and much brighter than before. But there was something very wrong with that place. There were people screaming, people running and there was blood all over the floor. Amira tried to figure it all out but suddenly a sharp wave of pain hit her. She couldn't move, she couldn't speak and she could no longer breathe. Her chest was aching, a pain she had never felt before was taking over her. She raised her hands to her face and saw that they were completely covered in blood. It did not take long before she realized that it was her blood what was staining the stone floor, it was her blood which was on her hands. It was her who was bleeding on the dusty floor. It was her who was dying on the dusty floor. _

_She could hear in the distance, somewhere between footsteps and shrieks, the sound of two blades hitting each other and the sound of flesh being torn and bones being crushed. There was someone fighting a few meters away from her but she could not distinguish who it was. She was too busy struggling to stay alive to notice such a thing. When breathing is the one thing you desire but the one thing that hurts you the most, life becomes meaningless. Struggling was futile, she was bound to die. No one with such a wound could even hope to live longer than a few minutes. She shut her eyes and tried to pray, to whomever might be there, to grant her some time. That's all she wanted, all she needed – time. _

_Her eyes were forced open again as the pain became much too terrible. By then, the fighting had stopped and the footsteps had receded. Everybody had fled and the guards that remained were probably dead, slaughtered. It was then that she saw some brown boots approaching her. The man wearing them kneeled besides her staining his white garments with the crimson substance. He took her hand and stared at her kindly. She could see his face. For the first time in a very long time, she was able to see the man's face and so she smiled. As she headed towards the realm of the dead she smiled, a tender and sweet smile. Everything started to fade again, not because the scene was changing, but because the play was over. As she was about to take in her last gulp of air a soft melody started playing in her head. A song she'd never heard before but she really wished she would've. A song with words she wish she could've spoken. _

_You were ever in my mind.  
You were behind my soul each time I held it to the flame.  
You were ever in my precious thoughts.  
I never told you I needed you darling like a rose needs the rain.  
How could you possibly know how much?  
So I reach for your love like the moon and the stars - ever in my sight, ever out of touch._

But she'd never had the courage to say such things, and even as she died, she wouldn't have the guts to speak. She stared into his brown eyes, waiting for death to send her to sleep. But as she had managed to create her resolve, the scene changed yet again. The new place was familiar, warm and bright. It was a wonderful and peaceful place where she was happy – truly happy. It was really a shame she was never able to figure out just where she was.

"Wake up," Altair said, shaking her slightly. She had been sweating and groaning in her sleep and so he decided that he better stop her nightmare before it worsened.

He had managed to find the weapons she'd hidden, and was now fully clothed. His face was once again hidden by the hood, allowing only the silhouette of his lips to be seen. Amira's eyes widened when she saw him kneeling before her. Feelings, all of which she had been trying to repress during the three days he'd been unconscious, resurfaced the moment she saw that man. Relief, like the most potent drug, took over her, making her lose control. Without thinking about it twice, she jumped to her feet and wrapped her arms around Altair's neck.

She was crying silently – out of happiness, out of sorrow, out of anger. But as she clung to him, feeling his warmth against her skin, she felt alive for the first time in quite the long time. "Thank goodness, you are alright," she whispered, tightening her grip. Altair remained motionless, unsure whether he should push her away or just let her cling on to him. He sighed, frustrated by her sudden actions, but did not scold her or complain. He simply allowed her to hold him until she managed to pull herself together.


	14. Chapter 14: Whereabouts

Chapter Fourteen:

The journey to Jerusalem was uneventful and long. It took a couple of minutes for Amira to let go of her embrace on Altair and when she finally did let go, he did not utter one word. She did not say a thing either, simply sat back and watched him walk away. Her dreams, though they were usually vivid and bright, have failed to be as real as the one she had the night before. For her to be broken down to such a state that she looked for comfort in a man who was the living opposite of caring, that dream was beyond anything she had experienced. She was embarrassed, if she had to describe her main concern at the time, and he was indifferent, which did nothing to make her anguish vanish. Whatever he thought of her now was on her thoughts as they travel on the brown and dirty road.

She was not really expecting them to spark an insightful conversation as they traveled but she was not expecting him to be completely silent. Not one word did he issue towards her until they reached the city gates of Jerusalem. To add up to her discomfort, the sun had decided to be ruthless that day. Used to very light gowns and fresh gardens to tune down the overbearing heat, Amira was having quite the tough time. The clothes she was now wearing were very different from what she had grown accustomed to – they were heavier, thicker and just a little bit suffocating.

By the time they reached the mighty walls of the city, Amira was sweating and panting, trying to find a way to get off the clothes. She would've thought of complaining if she knew that her partner would care about her complaints but given his nature, she simply kept her mouth shut and tried to keep her composure. It wasn't until they stood outside, confronted by the bastions, that they realized they had one more problem to deal with: how where they going to break in. Sure, Altair could've slipped by, making everybody believe he was a scholar at the least, but Amira could not have it so easily. She stared at the man, hoping it was not his first time smuggling people into another city. He looked at her and then at the guards standing in the way; she could not read minds, but she was certain that whatever solution he might come up with might not be as easy as what she had just thought of.

It was simple, easy and it did not take much effort, but it had one major drawback. She would only have one shot, and if something went wrong she would be in some serious trouble. Her brother and Adnan were not boys who would always play by the rules, when they needed it, they had some dirty tricks in store. They were the ones who, unintentionally, had thought her to be quite the good liar, an ability that made her prouder than she would admit. Like she had managed to make the kind people of that small town to believe her story of being robbed, she convinced the guards to let her in. 'My father is here for business, I was asked to accompany him but I got delayed,' she said to one of them as she took one of his hands in hers, in a pleading gesture. When he pulled his hand away from her grip, he found in his palm a couple of shiny coins to greet him. Amira's face had a sweet smile plastered on it, screaming innocence and naivety. The guard sighed, and moved over to talk with one of his buddies. It was as they discuss whether or not they should send her in without asking for more, that Altair slipped in to the city. His eyes were covered by the shade that the hood casted on his face, but even Amira could tell that he was not happy with what she had just done. The guards return to her after their thirty second deliberation, with a softer look on their eyes, and told her that her access had been granted.

She met with Altair inside, though he was the one who ran into her. "Follow me and stay close," he commanded when he saw her, clearly oblivious to her worn out face. She was very tired, but she did not want to show weakness and simply tried to keep up with his hectic ideas. Though their journey to their destination had begun on the ground, it was quickly moved to the roofs of the many buildings that once surrounded them. She tried to convince him that unlike him, she could not jump from rooftop to rooftop as easily. But, being as stubborn as he was, he ignored her complaints. In the end, it was him who had the hardest time due to the decision he had made for it was he who had to slow down and wait for her to catch up. When they finally reached the bureau they were both beyond angry – Amira on the verge of having a heat stroke and Altair on the verge of striking down anyone who was unlucky enough to glare at him the wrong way. To further worsen his mood, Malik's greeting was not very kind.

"You're late," he spat as if Altair needed to be reminded. "I received word from Al Mualim that you would be bringing someone with you, but it seems there is no one with you. Could it be that you were careless enough to lose a person a well?"

'I'm starting to wish I had lost her somewhere along the way,' he thought as he remembered all the times he had to stop to wait for her. "She's outside," he said coldly, "catching her breath, apparently."

"Oh, so it is a woman," Malik said sounding slightly more amused than before. "You must have enjoyed the journey if that's the case," a smirk was pressed on his lips when he said that but Altair's demeanor remained the same. He did not care what Malik was insinuating, all he cared about was ending his assignment. But, there was one more thing that bothered him, which he hoped Malik would be able to put to ease.

"Did master say why that _woman _is so important?" Altair asked Malik who chuckled but did not reply immediately. His master had been a little bit too shady about his assignment to escort the girl back to Masyaf. He had not shown that much interest in something since he was ordered to recover that treasure from the Knights Templar, but there was no way those that girl and the treasure were related. Whatever his reasons where, he only hoped he would share them them with him soon for he was not one to enjoy unnecessary company.

"Does he distrust you that badly, Altair?" Malik asked in return, trying to anger him even further, he gave up however, after he saw no obvious response. "He did not say why, but he did ask me to remind you that you must not let anything happen to her."

Altair repressed a sigh as he realized that Malik was not going to be of any assistance. "I was told that as well. But, that matters aside …" he was trying to shift the topic of their conversation to the main reason why he was there at that time but Malik interrupted him once again.

"Would you mind if I check on the girl before I give you the information you've come to look for?"

"As you wish," Altair said through gritted teeth. He had already taken three of the nine lives he had been ordered to end. With six to go, he was nothing but anxious to get it over with. "Her name's Amira Bra'em," he carried on as he met Malik's inquiring gaze.

Seconds after he had muttered her name, she walked into the room where both men stood. Her short hair was messy and tangled and her face was red and flustered which made her look like a simple beggar. Her chose of clothing accentuated the look, for she had removed the uppermost layer of it and had decided to remain with only a thin piece of cloth to cover her body. She was used to wearing thin clothes – though the ones she had at home where much prettier than the plain one she wore at the moment – and no one in her household seemed to mind too much. It was until she noticed the way Malik was staring that her, scanning her body thoroughly, that she realized why her chambermaids had made a fuss about it the first couple of times. She should've known; it was her own fault to assume that every man would react the same way as her dear Adnan. She stared at Altair, hoping that he was not wearing the same look as the man in black.

"This is Malik," Altair said, moving between her and Malik, blocking his view almost entirely when he felt her discomfort. "He is the rafiq here in Jerusalem." Amira nodded and backed away a little bit from them.

Both men started talking but Amira was far from listening. The moment Altair stepped in front of her, her consciousness started fading. She felt as if she was entering a dream like state once again, except she was not asleep and she was not dreaming. She had remained in that same spot while her mind wandered to a dangerous destination. It was not clear; the images in her head were nothing but flashes which would not last longer than ten seconds. But in those ten seconds she managed to see something which ignited a whole different feeling in her. The place was a small and dark room, with stone walls and a wooden door. It was mostly empty, except for some furniture and a bed – a bed which was occupied at the moment of her intrusion. In it, the assassin, who at that point was wearing nothing but pants, was treating himself to some fun with a girl. Their bodies where pressed tightly against each other – his hands on her waist and her arms around his neck – as they kissed rather passionately.

Amira opened her eyes, which she had instinctively shut close, to find herself no longer spying on the lovers. A wave of relief swept to her, for she did not want to witness what they were about to do next, followed by a round of intense blushing. 'What on earth am I doing?' she questioned herself, trying to understand why such images had flashed through her. What she'd seen before could be understandable; she could attribute it to her fear of losing those she cares for or for her intermittent desire to have her life finished. But this, what could she blame it on? It couldn't possibly be that she secretly wanted to have an affair with that man, for that was mistaken. Besides, it wasn't even her who was going to bed with him (A realization which awoke a monster in her – a green eyed monster.) 'I am not jealous,' she told herself, though she was not being convincing. She had no reason to be jealous, she had no reason to even think about feeling jealous. She shoved that thought aside and tried to regain her focus, but no matter what she did, the idea still lingered in her mind.

"I'll be leaving then," Altair said, dragging her attention back from her crazy world.

"Where are you going?" she asked, letting them know of her evident lack of attention so far. Malik looked at her with a raised eye brow and sighed, maybe she should've been more focused.

"I have work to do," Altair replied to her question, "you'll be staying here with –."

"Is it an assassination?" she interrupted him, sounding more eager than before. Though eager was the last thing she thought would be in her mind while contemplating another assassination.

"Yes," he said sharply, letting her know that he was not going to say anything else about it. "You'll stay here." He turned around and walked away decided to not share any more information with her. It was then that she realized that she should've paid attention.

An awkward silence rose for none of the people left in the room knew just what to say to each other. She did not like the feeling of being trapped in a small place, it was even more suffocating than the clothes she had been wearing earlier and the damned silence was making everything worse.

"So, uh, is there anything I can do?" Amira asked Malik, who for one second seemed distraught of the map he had started working on once Altair left. He shook his head, 'No', and Amira sighed, letting herself drop on one of the chairs. Her legs were a little bit sore from their journey but she suddenly got an urge of running. She had been restrained for the past week and she started needing that feeling that running gave her. But, the confined space of the bureau and the unfamiliar streets of Jerusalem did not seem inviting. If only she was home, she thought as she stared at Malik work on his detailed cartography, she would be able to run in the spacious halls and soothing gardens. She was never one to be emotional, but ever since her life turned into a hectic mess her feelings seemed to be perched on the uppermost layer of her being. Now, as she reminisced about her days in Damascus, homesick was added to the list of feelings new to her.

"Hey," she said, trying to maybe start a conversation with Malik, "did you ever meet a man named Ahmed?"

"I've met quite a couple," Malik replied without lifting his eyes from the parchment sheet. "Where is he from?"

"Damascus," she said back quickly. She never thought about asking Altair about her brother, she had never thought about asking anybody about him. It never bothered her to find out the details – 'where', 'when' and 'how' were insignificant matters to her – all she cared about was that her brother was dead and she would never see him again. But, as her master had told her once, learning something unpleasant can be tough, but in the long run it might just be worth it. "He was my brother," she carried on, "he left home for Masyaf when I was a kid, he wanted to work for you people."

Malik's look changed completely, as if he had been hit by a terrible realization. He shook his head, this time showing a small glimpse of regret on his forehead. Amira started freaking out at that point, her mind going wild about just what he could be remembering. Was it that bad?

"He was a good man," Malik said, "very talented for someone as young as him, I must admit. He was a couple of years older than me, I remember. He was promising, that man, reminds me a little bit of Altair. Except that he never had problems with his attitude." Amira laughed lightly at that comment, for it seemed that she was not the only one who found a resemblance between them both and the same major difference.

"It was a shame what happened," Malik proceeded after choosing his words carefully in what Amira guessed, was an attempt to keep her from getting upset. But Amira did not show one break in her behavior, concealing her hurt flawlessly. "But even if you were the greatest out there, the rules hold no exceptions – seems that's another characteristic they share." It was as he spoke that Amira finally showed an expression but poise in her face.

"Brother broke the rules?" she asked, sounding slightly agitated. The man she knew, her brother, would never dare break the rules of something so important to him. He may have been a hassle when he was a kid, ignoring his superior's commands, but he never went against anything his mother or father said. He would always listen and always obey, like an obedient and proper child, for they were important to him. He couldn't have, not after all he went through to get there, just broken the rules. He would not give up on that chance.

"We are ruled by three main tenants," Malik had dropped his utensils and turned to focus solely on the girl who seemed much immersed in what he was saying. "I believe you are familiar with them," he said, not mentioning the fact that he had read the letters that they had exchanged, "He broke the first."

'You must stay your blade from innocent blood,' Amira reviewed in her head. Her face showed clearly a wave of disappointment. It seems that Aldrich was right when he had said that he was no saint. She wouldn't have believed so then, but hearing something similar from the rafiq added a little bit more of credibility to his words. It still felt as something very unlikely – Why would Al Mualim's letter to her be so nice if that was the case. It seemed to her as she read it that such a man held some esteem for her brother which should have evanesced the moment he became a traitor.

"Was he executed?" she asked him hoping he would spare as many details about that as he could. He shook his head, though he still looked as somber as before. "No, he died during battle." He answered but Amira knew, just as she was good at telling lies, she was good at telling when someone lied. A little white lie to keep her at ease, she assumed, she might as well not let his efforts go to waste. She smiled at him, trying to show no emotion.

"I'm so sorry," he added, and Amira laughed.

"It was a long time ago, it doesn't bother me anymore," she said, telling herself that she was being honest.

"It was five years ago, right? It takes most people longer than that to get over the death of a loved one, seems you are stronger than most. But, why did you want to know this now?"

"I don't know, meager curiosity I suppose," she replied. "So, what do you do here all day?" she asked in an attempt to change the topic of conversation. At least, he was more talkative than Altair so her stay in such a place might not be as tedious as she'd expected.

"You should rest," he suggested to her dismay. She did not want to rest; she wanted to have a normal day, one that did not include a silence treatment.

"I am not tired," she lied, "there must be something I can do. You can't expect me to stay here and just watch you work. Anything at all?" she was pleading at that point. She needed to make herself busy. Malik sighed and stopped to ponder about an assignment for the girl.

"What's so wrong about waiting in silence?" he asked her.

"Have you ever traveled with him?" she said referring to Altair, "after five days with that man, silence is the last thing I would enjoy." Mali chuckled, trying to picture the frustration that the girl might have felt at that time.

"Would you like to learn how to trace maps?" he asked her as he ran out of options. Just what could he have asked such a woman to do anyways – ask her to go do some errands? He could not possibly think about doing such a thing for if he let her out she might get lost or worse, try to escape. He had to keep her in that place and apparently had to find a way to keep her busy. She got to her feet eagerly, learning had the same effect as running in her. It had been so long since she'd received lessons others than pottery and weaving that even though cartography was never a subject that interested her, it made her day seem so much brighter.

* * *

"Here comes your escort," Malik told Amira as he heard him drop from the rooftop entrance. She let out a soft laugh as the footsteps approached them. It took about five hours for the assassins to return to the bureau, and it was then when he finally showed to be tired. Amira had spent those hours listening to Malik's tales and advice. He had proven to be much nicer company than Altair; he for once would bother to acknowledge her existence.

"You are back already?" Malik asked him as he stepped into sight. It was faint, but there were traces of blood in the man's robes – the reason behind them, Amira did not want to know at the moment.

"Hello assassin," she said with a smile, in an attempt to show him that she had more fun without him. His eyes focused on her for a second but then moved to face Malik, completely disregarding her.

"I've done what you've asked me to do. I know where and when he will be." He said to Malik while Amira eyed him with a disillusioned expression on her face.

"Very well," Malik said to him coldly, "Rest, or do whatever it is you do before you carry on your assignment. You should rest too, lady Amira." His way of addressing the girl was much too different from the way he had addressed Altair earlier. Altair turned around and left, back to the outside of the bureau and Amira, after being gestured by Malik, followed him into what she hoped would be a nice place to rest. What greeted her instead were a couple of cushions and thick rugs, like the improvised bed she had created for Altair during their stay in the barn. She sighed as she contemplated another night sleeping in the cold floor – there was only one stack of pillows, where was she going to sleep?

She walked towards the stack of pillows and took one in her hands, one more than what she had in that barn. The sun was starting to set, and night was about to crawl in. She stared at the sky above her, admiring the transition of blue to black. It would not be long until stars replace clouds and cold replaces hot. It would not be long until she found herself in her favorite time of day, in a place where the night sky was visible and the cold was not kept away. Her circumstance may not be the fairest of them all, but it was moments like that which made her feel like everything was not entirely too bad. It was like those few moments she had with the lieutenant, they were unbelievably pleasant, even though she believed he was taking her to her demise. She knew it would make no sense to the average person just as it made no sense to her. After everything that had happened, she was not feeling overwhelmed nor was she weakened. She had remained relatively composed, relatively poised. And most notoriously, she was enjoying herself even if just slightly. 'What kind of sick person would think about being happy in such a situation?' she asked herself, 'only someone as crazy as me.'

"Aren't you going to rest?" she asked Altair who was sitting across from the stack of pillows. "Your wounds have yet to fully heal. Do you think I should change your bandages again? Because if that's the case I am sure I could get some tomorrow."

"It's fine. You don't need to pretend to be more than you really are. You are exhausted."

"And you are injured." She snapped back, "I am fine, there are no wounds on **my** body."

"Have you taken a look at yourself? You have more scars than any woman should." He retaliated.

"Haven't we had a conversation like this before?" Amira sighed, frustrated. She threw the cushion she was holding at him who, as she would've thought, caught it effortlessly. She took a seat besides the pillows, and started staring at the first stars that had crept in.

"I don't want to sleep," she admitted after a moment of silence. He, who had been staring at the floor during the entire time, lifted his head to face her sensing the difference in her tone of voice. "As childish as it may sound, yesterday I had a really bad dream – a dream I don't want to ever have again. If I close my eyes and sleep, there's a chance it might come to haunt me one more time, so, I do not want to sleep."

"You are right," he said and she glared at him surprised, "it is childish. If you let such nonsense get to you then you then you are a way bigger wreck than I thought you'd be."

"I'm no wreck," she said but as the words left her mouth she realized that she couldn't have fooled the most naïve person with those words of hers. Maybe she was a wreck, but who cared? She was good at hiding her vulnerability and he had no right to expose it.

"If you say so," he replied. There was something about his growing indifference that was starting to anger her. But if she was a wreck and he knew it, so why not try to comfort her? Wouldn't he do that for that woman he was so avidly touching? Why was she remembering such a thing? In an effort to get it out of her head, she tried to strike up conversation with him again.

"Who is it?" she asked hoping he would know who she was referring to. He did not answer at first, merely stared at the floor as he was doing earlier.

"Majd Addin" he said coldly, "the man is executing people for no apparent reason."

"That's not good," she commented, thinking: 'Isn't that the understatement of the year?' "What was my master convicted for – teaching the wrong material?"

"How old were you when that happened?" Altair asked her in return. The imagery of that day was as carved into him as it was into her though for very different reasons. To him, it was the first real mission he was assigned. His victim was no longer an average man with a hidden agenda or a semi-influent politician; it was a famous scholar from the great city of Damascus. It was a man whose death would have a big impact on the lives of hundreds of people. It was the first sign of trust that Al Mualim showed him, his first moment to shine. To Amira, that moment was not as nice to remember. It was, after all, the day she saw someone very close to her get assassinated. He had meant more to her than anyone would've believed, than he would've thought. Yet, somehow, she did not hold a grudge against him. Not once ounce of animosity did she show towards him or the lieutenant, even after he punched her and shoved her to the ground. She was definitely something special, though he was not sure if it was something good.

"I was twelve years old, a little girl. Thank you for scarring my youth, by the way," she joked, though he did not get the humor in it.

"I'd believed the incident with your mother had done that," he replied to her astonishment. That was a cheap blow, a cheap unnecessary blow. She threw another pillow at him, as if she expected to hurt him – even if she hit him they were much too soft to cause pain in anybody but a child. She sighed, suddenly angered by what he had said.

"You know, I am sure your child hood was as rotten as mine!" she yelled at him, getting to her feet. She hated making a scene, she hated when people did such things but at that moment her anger was a tad out of control. "Why else would you choose to take people's life? No person does such a thing out of ideals only! You are a murderer, an assassin, don't go thinking so highly of yourself!"

"At least I am stronger than you are," he shot at her, with a smirk on his face.

"Well, of course you are! You are a man and you've been train –,"

"That's not what I mean;" he interrupted, "that is obvious. Look at you; you are throwing a tantrum like earlier this morning. What gives you the right to act like a spoiled child? In the end that's all you are, a spoiled little brat who cannot do anything without someone coming to rescue her."

"Shut up!" She said, driving both her hands into a fist. "I am not spoiled and I am not a brat." She got up to walk as far as away from him as possible. "I am much stronger than you think I am!" She sat on the other side of the room, close to the bureau's door. She could no longer see the stars but she no longer cared. How dare he say she was spoiled? How dare he imply that she was useless? How dare he?

* * *

Altair did not move his eyes from her, making sure that she would not try something weird, for quite the while. She fell soundly asleep, even though she claimed to not want to, a couple of minutes after she had exiled herself from the country of pillows and sheets. She was probably cold but that was her fault for choosing to wear such revealing clothing. She should really need to start forgetting about her life in that palace of hers, in the busy city of Damascus. Her future did not look too bright. With the Knights Templar after her and his master's interest in her, he did not think she would get the chance to be free again. And she probably knew that. She most probably knew that whoever she was kept with, she would be unable to return to her old life.

It was when he was certain that she had fallen asleep, that he decided to get some sleep himself. He may refuse to parade it, but his wound was aching rather badly. It was not bad enough to make him lose his focus, but it was still an annoying wound. He took off his weapons, and stacked them next to where he was to rest. He laid on the floor, enjoying his well deserved rest and, as he was about to close his eyes to sleep the girl on the cold ground across from him came to his mind. He got back up, picking up one of the pillows she had thrown at him earlier, and walked towards her. He lifted her head, careful not to wake her up, and placed it under her. He looked at her closely for a while. Her arm was, as he had noticed the night before, covered in scars which he could only assume how she'd acquired them. He pushed the thought off his head and returned to his bed. He had done his good deed of the day and was no, finally, going to get some sleep.

* * *

Morning came faster than anyone resting in the bureau would've wanted. Altair, left early in the morning, way before Amira had even woken up. Eager to finish his assignment and terminate his stay in that city, he left merely an hour after the break of dawn.

"Wait," Amira whispered as she slept, making Altair's and Malik's head turn in her direction. "Promise me you'll be safe."

"It almost seems as if she's talking to you," Malik said to Altair. He looked at her and then shook his head.

"The marker?" he asked and Malik placed in his hand a white feather, one which by the time he was done with his assignment would be covered in red. He shot one last glance at the sleeping girl. He couldn't help but feel relieved at the moment – a small part of him was so, because she had not decided to jump into a stranger's arms that morning while the other, and bigger part of him was so, because, when he was finally done with the assassination, he would take her to Masyaf and she would no longer be his responsibility.

* * *

"Welcome, welcome, to the land of dreams," a stranger spoke in a rather enthusiastic tone of voice. "Would you like to know, would you like to see something no man has heard before? Welcome, welcome, to the land of dreams. What if I said, things aren't always what they seem? What if I said I knew where your brother is? Would you believe me or would you leave? What if I said he was not dead? What if I said he's not just in your head? What, oh, what would you do, if I told you he is near? Would go after him, girly? Or, would you stay right here? What if I told you, you could see him today? What if I said: "Meet him in the market at midday"? What if I told you, he is not dead?"

"I would **not** believe you," Amira replied confident and once again, the scene faded to nothingness.

* * *

_Author's Note: Yes, it's taking me forever to update and I am sorry. My computer has been dead for about two weeks now and I finally got it to work! It's been the most awful two weeks in my life. Anyways, next chapter will come out sooner and it will be longer to make up for absence. Peace and love, muffins. Peace and love. _


	15. Chapter 15: Weapons

A pounding pain in her head awoke Amira the following morning. Her back was aching and her legs were aching, pain which she attributed to the previous journey. It was bright and sunny outside, about four hours after sunrise. The heat had risen as well, but she was expecting that much. She got up to her feet, staggering slightly due to the pain in her head. There was no one around her. The assassin seemed to have left, which left her all alone with Malik again. 'That isn't too bad,' she told herself as she stretched. A smile got pinned on her face when she remembered how much fun she had had with that man the day before. Staying in that room with him for another day might not be too bad.

"Good morning," she greeted as she stepped inside the bureau. As if he had nothing else to do, Malik was bent on the desk, still working on his map of Jerusalem. He raised his head to look at her and placed his utensils down.

"Good morning, lady Amira. I believe you had a good sleep?" he said politely, though he knew by the look in her face that she had a rough night.

"On the contrary, sleep is not as pleasant as it used to be anymore?" she replied and he chuckled, picking his utensils up once again.

"There's some bread and fruits in the basket on the table," he pointed at it and she turned her head. She hadn't had much to eat lately and her body seemed to be getting used to it, as unhealthy as it may be, for it did not complain of hunger. She took a fruit in her hand, a rather small one at that, and sat down in the same chair she had used the day before.

"Say, Rafiq, is there a market nearby?" she asked him out mere curiosity. Her dreams, as crazy as they may be, had a thing for being slightly related to actual events. The thought of her brother being alive was very different from what she would've thought. It was a miracle, certainly, yet she did not feel one bit grateful. He could not be alive; two men had already told her that he was dead. If he was alive, hypothetically speaking of course, he would've have tried to contact her. He would've written a reply to her letter. But, maybe they only wanted to fake his death. If that was the case he would not be in Jerusalem at the moment. What could a man they tried to pass off as dead be doing there? Well, many reasons there could be, but if she went on thinking about everything that could be her head was going to explode.

"There is one close, actually. Why do you ask?" Malik said, though he still refused to stop working. She had hindered his progress a lot the day before, it was only understandable that he was focusing on work rather than her.

"He's a very proud man, so I am sure he has not told you but he's actually hurt. It's not that bad of a wound, but it still needs to be treated. I was thinking about buying some bandages –,"

"I have enough supplies to tend for whatever wound he might have." Malik interrupted. Amira sighed, she really did want to go outside.

"Then can I go get some clothes?" she asked innocently. "The ones I wore during the journey are much too uncomfortable and this seems to be too…attention grabbing."

"I can arrange for that as well," Malik said to Amira's frustration.

"Please, let me go outside," she begged. Malik stared at her for a while trying to read her expression, to try and read why her sudden interest in leaving had arisen.

"What guarantees your return?" he asked dubious.

"I know not a thing about this place, rafiq, running away would by no means be favorable. I am not that stupid." She reassured him, meaning every word. She knew no one in that place, and she knew not the city. She had enough money to live for a while but that is if thieves or even the guards didn't make off with her.

"Well, fine," Malik accepted to her surprise, "but I need you to get back here before Altair returns or he'll be mad beyond measure." Amira nodded and ran to the place where she had come from. She only needed to climb the wall and then somehow get off the roof and she would be ready to go. Suddenly, it did not seem like so easy a task. She took in a deep breath, and started her way up as gracefully as she could though she could not help but hesitate before taking every next step. She reached the rooftop, to meet an even stronger and brighter sun that what she had been used to in the bureau. It was as she scanned the rooftops around that she realized that such city was not much different from her hometown – filled with passersby and merchants on the streets, it was as busy as Damascus.

She was about to jump from the rooftop, even though she had realized that it was much too tall for her to land injury-free, when she noticed that some of the people on the streets below were staring up at her. Trying to act naturally she stepped towards the ledge, when one little boy from the crowd bothered to yell at her: "there's a ladder, lady, on the other side." She stepped back, with a shameful look on her face and walked to where she assumed the ladder would be. She climbed down and the curious who had stopped resumed their way except for the little boy.

"You could've have gotten hurt if you jumped," he said to her, looking at her with a hint of humor.

"No – _maybe_ – but it wouldn't have been that bad." She snapped at him and started walking away. She had to find a market and she knew not where to even begin to look. She should've asked him for directions or to tag along with her as implausible as that may be.

"Why were you up there, anyway?" the boy inquired. He was following her, to her surprise.

"I was looking for something," she said absentmindedly. She needed to find her way but by then it was too late to go and ask for directions. She had to do it on her own.

"What could you be looking for up there? And why are you wearing such indecent clothes?" the boy pressed and Amira suddenly stopped, and turned to face the child. He was probably around ten or eleven years of age, though he was slightly taller for his age. His eyes were honey brown and his hair black and messy.

"Do you know where the market is – the closest one to this place?" she asked him. If she was lucky, she could've just found herself a tour guide. Te boy nodded and pointed straight ahead of them. It seemed that she wasn't taking the wrong way, after all. She quickened her pace, she would know how to return, she was sure of that and she had to get there before Altair, his time of arrival unknown to her.

"Hey, wait up," the boy yelled, urged to catch up with her once again. "Why do you need to go to the market? Why are you wearing that? How come you don't know where it is?"

"Do you have to follow me?!" she yelled at him, angered by his unnecessary questions.

"I helped you out, it's only fair if you help me out. Don't you think?" Amira sighed when she saw his innocent boy expression.

"How can I help you?" she asked with a mocking tone of voice. The little boy shrugged, not even he was sure of what to ask her. "Okay, I'll buy something for you in the market, just keep silent." She said to him and he nodded. He started walking ahead of her, leading the way, and she followed. She was carrying some of the coins that the lieutenant had handed her, enough to buy what she needed to treat the assassin's wounds and buy a random thing to her little puppy dog.

They walked for minutes only, before they reached the market area of Jerusalem. It was, as anyone would've expected, crowded and loud with people gathering around the different stalls purchasing goods or arguing about their price. 'I have the best prices in the city' she heard one merchant yelled as they passed close to his tent which was pretty crowded. 'I have everything you might need,' another one yelled in the distance. The boy was following her carefully, occasionally shooting glances at the things being displayed.

"Go find something you might like," Amira said slipping a coin in the boy's hand. When he felt the cold metal on his skin he let out a smile on his face and ran to one of the many stalls – he seemed to have decided what he wanted really quickly. She smiled, amused by the kid, and started wandering on her own. There were many things plastered on the stands, none which caught her eye for they were focused looking for something – someone – else.

It was stupid of her to believe that only because a random voice in her dreams told her that her brother was alive then it had to be true. Oh, how pathetic of her to bother. She should've stayed in the bureau, talking and drawing maps but instead, she was in the middle of the most crowded place looking for a ghost.

"What are you getting, lady?" the boy asked her when he noticed she was not looking at the goods being offered.

"Oh, just stuff, anything really, can you suggest a place for me?" The boy nodded and pulled her towards one of the farthest stands. It wasn't as crowded as the other ones, for the only thing that vendor was offering was some fancy clothing and jewelry – the kind that subtly reminded her of her life at Damascus. She stared at the goods not bothering to look at the man offering them.

"Imad, what are you doing here kid?" the vendor spoke to the kid with clear familiarity, ignoring Amira.

"This young lady here wants to buy something, I thought you could help." He explained with his childish voice. The man laughed before taking a look at her in her 'indecent' clothing, making her again feel uncomfortable.

"Are you hurt, young lady?" he asked her, and she turned to look at him.

Her face upon meeting face showed nothing but utter shock. The eyes, staring back at her, were the exact same eyes her brother had – dark and warm. His hair was longer than her brother's had been, and his facial features were not exactly the same, but there was an awful resemblance between him and her brother.

"You okay, it looks like you've seen a ghost," he remarked with a smirk.

"Oh, it's nothing," Amira said, trying to sound as calm as possible. "I'm not hurt; my clothes are just ragged because I like them this way." The vendor laughed and shook his head when he heard her weird excuse.

"Well, I think I have something you might like," he said and winked at her. He pulled from one of his stacks of clothing a silky, black Adaya with fine embroidery. Amira smiled slightly and took it into her hand, surprised by how all the feelings she would have expected to flow into her had remained bottled up. He may look like her dear brother, but that did not mean he was.

"I think it would suit you just fine," the man added when he noticed the very dark color of her eyes.

"Have I seen you somewhere before?" he asked her as she examined the piece of clothes in her hands.

"No, sir, I don't think so. But, you too, look very familiar." She agreed, though she did not mention that he was almost identical to her dead brother. Even their voices, even though she had not heard her brother's voice in years, were the same.

"Anything you would like?" Amira asked the boy as she handed him the piece of clothing. As much as she would like to buy fancy clothes, it was definitely not the time to be thinking about such things. The boy started going through the things in display, while the vendor's eyes started going through Amira's body as if it was on display. She really was starting to feel uncomfortable, but she would not let it show – again, that was her own fault. Besides, there were more important things on her head at that moment.

Her dreams, as implausible as it may sound, seemed to be somehow connected to things that actually happened – like the death of her brother and the wound on Altair's body. And, the few times she's experienced her prophetic dreams, the things she'd seen had a tendency of being true. So, why would she suddenly see, or in that case hear, news of her brother being alive when the man standing in front of him wasn't. Did she make a mistake? If so, how can she tell when they are true or not? And that's where she found herself struggling, trying to choose whether that was convenient or not. If her divination skills where not one hundred percent accurate then the visions of her death might just be a mistake as well. And that horrible scene of the assassin and that woman, that could be a mistake as well. But she knew better than anybody that holding on to hope in such circumstances was only more painful than giving up.

"Can I take this young lady?" the boy asked Amira tugging on her dress. She turned to look at him and the item he was holding. It was a pretty and delicate bracelet, a fine piece of jewelry if she might add.

"I know it may be a little expensive, but my mother has wanted a bracelet like this for some time now and I wanted to –,"

"It's fine," Amira interrupted him with a smile. The words mother and bracelet were enough to convince her. Her mother was very fond of jewelry, her own personal collection being worth more than any person could guess. And so she wondered, just what might've happened to the things that her mother owned. Did the guards break in and steal everything? Who were they give to? Where they going to care for them as much as mother did? It was at times like that, when she really missed her mother.

"You are quite the generous person," the vendor told Amira with an estranged smile on his face. She just nodded courteously and handed him the amount he had agreed with the boy. It was quite the pricey piece of jewelry but in the end, it was not her treat but rather the lieutenant's. The boy's face was completely lit up as he held the shiny string of metal in his hands, thinking about his mother's reaction when he saw him hand her such a precious gift.

"Aren't you buying anything for yourself, young lady?" the boy asked Amira and she shook her head.

"No, I was just looking for something. But, I guess I couldn't find it." Amira explained, again deciding not to mention that she was looking for a ghost. The vendor – whose resemblance to her brother seemed to grow by the minute – smiled at her, accentuating their similarities. Though she thought it would not hit her, the feeling of loss that she had to deal with when she was a kid was resurfacing for she had, stupidly, held the hope that she would meet her brother.

"It's a shame you did not find what you needed, young girl. But I am sure that with time you will." The vendor tried to reassure her and Amira replied with a smile. 'What I have lost, I will never find again,' she thought.

"Let's go then boy," she tapped the boy's shoulder to move. She could not stay in that place one more second for she was going to snap and like her maids would remind her, there is nothing more shameful than a woman breaking down. Of course there are things that are much more shameful, she would think as she was lectured, nodding courteously at the maids. But, they were right about that one thing. People shouldn't break down and let their weaknesses be exposed, not in private and much less in public. Which reminded her, she had already done so twice in front of the assassin.

"See you later, Imad," the man said to the boy as he was about to leave. Amira curtsied at him and smiled, thanking him for his assistance through that gesture alone. The boy waved less graciously and started to follow Amira though he should be the one to lead.

"See you later, Ahmed," the boy replied glancing back at the stall, making Amira stop cold on the spot. She turned to look at the man, her face now pale and her eyes on the verge of tears. She took a deep breath to try and regain her slipping composure and decided to address the man.

"Excuse me, what is your name, again?" she asked him, trying to disguise her true feelings.

"I am Ahmed, young lady. What about you?" he asked in return.

"Amira," she replied quietly. The man smiled at her and nodded.

"I'll make sure I don't forget," he said. And with that Amira turned away and finally started getting away from such a place. His face, when he said his name showed no feeling whatsoever. To him it was just the name of a random customer and nothing more. It wasn't her brother, no matter how many similarities they shared. That man was not her brother, so why did she dream such a thing? Was she really that big of a masochist that she would tell herself such a terrible thing? Was she really stupid enough to believe it?

The boy who had noticed her sudden changed in mood looked at her concerned. But a smile she sent his way when she noticed his little eyes staring at her, made him desist on the idea of asking. He was not told, but he knew that he was to take her to the place where he had found her, whatever that place may be to her. He would have liked to ask though he knew it would have been futile. Still curiosity was not leaving his system it was only metastasizing, becoming more aggressive and invasive as they walked in silence.

"Hey, lady," he finally spoke, as he played with the bracelet in his hand. "You have a pretty name." Amira started laughing at the comment, it was definitely the first time she had heard such a thing. The girls she knew thought it was a pretentious name, for its meaning was 'princess', and so they'd never say one nice thing about it.

"Thank you, Imad," she replied, trying to realize why the boy had said such a thing. The boy smiled at her and kept on tossing his bracelet into the air, as if it was a toy ball. Amira thought about reprimanding him, but she figured he did not need such a thing. He would not jeopardize the well being of something precious to him … or, would he? As if to answer her question the boy failed to catch the bracelet as it headed to the ground and it ended up in the dusty floor. The boy laughed at his clumsiness and bent down to pick it up from the ground. As he gained an upright position again, he heard noticed a shadow leaning over him which me immediately realized meant no good.

* * *

The sound of angry footsteps was the only warning the guard had of what was approaching. Without knocking, his office door flew open and a man stepped inside, his face raging. The guard tried to get up, to try and show dominance, but the moment he got to his feet the uninvited guest managed to land quite the powerful punch in his jaw. The guard stumbled backwards, hitting the wall behind him. He urged himself to not let the hit affect his consciousness for he could not allow a stranger to beat him up in his own office. Before he managed to land a punch on the stranger, the man threw himself towards him and pinned him against the wall, holding him down by his shirt.

"How much did they pay you, you miserable guard?" the man asked him, his voice showing just how mad he was at that point. "How much?!"

"I don't know what you are talking about," the guard said pushing him away from him. "Who the hell do you think you are, storming into this place like if it was your little palace?"

"You sold her to someone, who did you sell her to?" the man insisted to the guard's frustrations.

"I told you, I do not know what you are talking about." The guard replied, trying to act nonchalant. He drove his hand to his jaw, to check if there was any blood pouring from it. Lucky for him and his ego, there was no cut though it was sure to leave quite the nice bruise.

"You damn well know what I am talking about!" The man yelled, containing himself from punching the guard one more time. He was lucky as well, that the man in front of him was too big a coward to call for some support. The guard knew that if it was his word against his, he would not be believed. "It took me five days to go and come from Acre there is no way you could've gotten note of her father's death in only one night. And her father is alive, for heaven's sake, I saw him myself."

"Look, young man, the only reason why I have not called the guards on you is because of who your father is. Now, save us both some trouble and leave, before things get worse. I am sure your servants are worried, _master_ Adnan." The guard tried to explain himself, in an attempt to make the man see that there was no reason to worsen the situation. 'But the situation was as bad as could be thought Adnan as he remembered the incidents of days prior.

"If you fear my father's power so badly, then why do you refuse to cooperate with me? One word of mine and I could have him destroy everything dear to you." Adnan spoke but the guard did not reply. He simply stare down, at the floor beneath them, deep in thought as he heard the boy speak.

"Could it be that you are more afraid of them than you are of us?" Again, there was no reply but silence was enough of an answer.

"Who did you sell her to?" Adnan ask, his voice suddenly dropping the anger and acquiring a more business like façade. "What does the life of your family cost – twice as much as what they paid, thrice as much? If you can fall low enough to make agreements with them, then you sure can fall even lower and betray them. Name the price of your pride as a guard of Damascus, if you have any left."

"I won't let a brat like you speak to me like that!" the guard yelled but Adnan did not back down. He started walking towards him, as to have him pinned against the wall again.

"You really have no choice. If you do not cooperate with me, then I will report to my father right away."

"He will not care about me selling your little fiancée and you know that," the guard said, trying to sound defiant.

"You are right," Adnan admitted. "He will not care about the fact that my fiancée got sold to the enemy. He is going to care about the fact that his guards are making clandestine deals with them! It's treason! And you should know what happens to those who are convicted of such a thing. So tell me, who did you sell her to?"

"I think you might already know the answer to that, young master," the guard said, his voice shaky. Adnan sighed, frustrated. There were two possible culprits in his mind: the idealistic idiots - as he lovingly called the assassin's - and the Knights Templar - who, though Adnan was not sure why, Amira's father blamed for her situation. It would be impossibly hard to track down the latter. With their member count exceeding one thousand men, pinpointing the one responsible would be harder. Deep inside he was hoping that it was the assassins were holding his fiancé hostage for at least he knew their location. He'd had an unofficial spy providing him with enough information about their whereabouts.

"Did he say about where they were going?" he asked the guard though his voice was calmer than before. The guard shook his head and he sighed trying to figure out what to do.

"Don't tell anybody else about our encounter. You will receive your payment tomorrow." Adnan said as he exited the room. He ran down the steps and out the fort as fast as he could for he still had one more place to visit.

* * *

"What have you got there kid?" one of the guards of Jerusalem asked Imad as he got up with the bracelet in his hand. They had long abandoned the crowded area of the market, and the place where they had stopped was quite desolate. They were standing merely twenty meters away from the bureau, a fact which proved Amira that she really was a magnet for trouble.

"I bought it sir," the boy said politely, trying to place as much distance between him and the officer as possible. He was not hiding how intimidated he felt and Amira was starting to share part of his concern.

"How can a little rat like you afford such a thing?" the guard pressed. The boy looked like the average boy, not like the kind who would be carrying fancy pieces of jewelry around.

"I paid for it," Amira intervened, hoping he would believe her although her looks and the child's were not much different. "He helped me out and I treated him to a present. He happened to chose that."

"And how did you afford such a thing, lady?" he was getting closer to her than he was to boy, which was relieving given that there was some kind of altercation he would be able to get away.

"My father is a very prodigious merchant," she said, "I can afford things tens of times more expensive that such a miserable bracelet." The guard smirked and proceeded to give her the visual examination every man she had encountered had done - though his eyes were much different, much more lustful. It was then that she realized that Malik's stare was rather innocent.

"Do you really think I would believe such a thing?" the guard taunted her and moved forward, like a hunter nearing his prey. It was definitely a different from what the other men had bore, much more frightening. Amira threw a glance at the boy – one which said: "If he tries anything, you run." He did not seem like the type to abandon someone, but he would stand no chance against him and frankly, neither would her.

"Whether you believe me or not sir, that is not my fault. I know I did not steal that bracelet and I know the boy didn't steal it either." Amira said confidently.

"Well then, let's make a deal," the guard proposed, "I will let you and boy leave unharmed if you give me something in return." It was the way he said such a thing what made Amira nervous. She would be willing to pay him off like she had done with the guards at the entrance, but he did not seem to want any money.

"That would depend on what you want for me to give you, sir," Amira replied and the man chuckled. The moved his right hand to graze her arm. He was staring at her fiercely in the eye, not bothering to hide the desire that was boiling in him.

"I'm sorry sir," she said as he tried to move his hand to her face, "but that is something I am not willing to offer." Again, a smirk was pressed on his face and with no concern over her being a girl, he shoved her against the wall. He had both his hands wrapped around her neck, tightly, though not tight enough to suffocate her.

"It's not like you have a choice deary," he said in an incredibly threatening tone. Though Amira did not seem intimidated one bit, she was hating him so much at that moment.

The boy, whom the guard had removed from his mind, did not like his tone either. In an attempt at help, he decided to throw a stone he picked from the dusty ground at the guard. He was still a child and so the hit was not as strong as he would have wanted, as it was needed.

The guard turned immediately to face the kid whose eyes were fixed on Amira. "Run," she mouthed and the boy hesitated, too scared to move. Amira, who was not going to stand and watch a little boy get slaughtered, decided to try something as well. She bent down to pick up some of the soil from the ground and held it tightly in her palm. She walked towards the guard and tapped his back, causing him to turn. As he faced her, she released all the sand she had collected into his eyes, blinding him momentarily. With her other hand, she did something she would have never find herself possible of doing. It was a sloppy uppercut to the man's chin, which, although it was not strong enough to make him pass out, it was good enough to stun him momentarily. She noticed her hand briefly, as she felt a sharp wave of pain travel through it stopping at her wrist. There was blood on her knuckles showing that not only did she hit him hard enough, she was not used to hitting people.

Amira pushed him to the ground, mustering all her strength and then ran towards the frozen boy, taking his hand and pulling him with her. She had to get away from that place before the guard gave the order of pursue.

"Come back, you whore!" she heard the guard scream and she accelerated her run, fearing the boy would not be able to keep up. It was as she approached the bureau that she realized she could not go there with the kid and with a guard trailing her, so she ended up changing directions merely feet away from her safe place.

The place she had chosen as a hiding spot was not the most preferable one. Sure, it was a good place to hide, but if they were to be found there would be no place to run. Amira took a glance at the boy, who still seemed to be shaken by what had happened and was showing it in his face.

"Calm down," Amira said trying to sound reassuring. They boy was panting, trying to catch his breath and hoping the guard would've lost them by then. It was the footsteps on the outside what made him lose all hope.

"Listen," Amira said, looking at the boy straight into his honey brown eyes. "I'm faster than you are and I have more stamina. I'm going to go out there and try to get him as far away from this place as possible. When he's gone, I want you to get home as fast as you can, okay? It was really pleasant meeting you, but now I must leave. Good luck, kid." She had started to walk away when the boy ran and tugged on her hand.

"But if he catches up to you –," he protested though Amira did not let him finish the sentence.

"Trust me, I can outrun him." She said and winked. She took in a deep breath and stepped outside, a couple of meters ahead from where the guard was looking for her. He seemed beyond irritated like any man with a broken ego would be.

"Looking for someone?" Amira said teasingly and upon hearing his voice the guard avalanched towards her. She started to run, fast enough to keep him in at a safe distance though she knew she could not play cops and robbers forever. She needed to get back to the bureau fast, because if she failed to meet her curfew… well the assassin was far scarier than the petty guard.

Right ahead of her laid what she thought would be the solution to her problem. She might not be the most agile person in the world, but after her hopping lessons with Altair, running through the rooftops might no longer be as annoyingly hard as it was before. She ran to the ladder, but as she was climbing the guard managed to catch her and pull her back down to the ground.

"You think you can mock me, woman?" he yelled at her. "You think you can outrun me?"

"I honestly thought I could," Amira replied, with a taunting smile on her face. She was trying to figure out a way out of her little problem. She was starting to think that playing the hero was not the smartest thing to do when your only superpower is running away.

"You conceited little," the man could not finish a sentence due to his increasing anger. He was approaching her again, as he did before, like if he was about to ravage her. She kept pacing backwards, a part of her was doing so to tease him while the other part was just trying to see what she could do. Unluckily for her, she quickly hit a wall, and found herself once again cornered by the same man.

"I am going to kill –," he threatened but before he could finish his sentence he was interrupted by a divine gift from heaven. From the feeling above them, the body of one of the archer's was dropped in to the gap where they currently inhabited. Amira jumped sideways to her left, to avoid being hit by the corpse but she did not show one hint of surprise. They both did look up, simultaneously, but there was nothing there.

'Oh, no,' Amira though as she remembered that she had to get herself back to the bureau before him. The guard, completely forgetting about Amira's existence ran to the street to try and see if there was anybody in the rooftops above them. But it seemed that besides him and the girl, no one else had noticed what had just happened. Amira, taking the guard's confusion to her advantage, walked over to the bleeding body, in the search for something to attack with. Even though she could not handle weapons, she was sure she'd at least be able to blindly attack. The man, to her misfortune, was carrying no weapons other than a bow and a couple of arrows – the last thing Amira wanted to encounter. But, given her situation it might be the least she could do.

She picked the wooden bow and the arrows and held it in her hands confusingly. She knew nothing about posture or aim, but anything was worth the shot. If she missed, well her faith would be the same as if she hadn't done anything at all. She placed the arrow on the string, the way she thought it was meant to be, and pulled the tight string. The strength required to do such a thing was more than she could've ever imagined. Adding to that her lack of proper posture, getting that thing to work for her was quite the challenge.

"Hey," she called out to the guard, who had ran into the streets looking for some reinforcements. "Did you forget about me again?" he turned around to face her, surprise spread on his face. And it was when she saw his face, trying to hide the fear of dying, that Amira decided to try her best with her new weapon. The feeling of being the predator rather than the prey was all that was needed for Amira to release the arrow which soon enough ended up lodged in the man's chest.

***

"Master Adnan, thank goodness you are alright," one of Amira's chambermaids ran to greet the man as he stepped into what used to be his fiancé's home. The place seemed so much duller to him without Amira running away from her chores and the maids trailing after her trying to convince her to return to her lessons. Besides that, however, nothing seemed strange about the house. If his memory served him correctly everything was where it had been left.

"Did anyone come here, Farah?" he asked, though he did not wait for a reply and ran upstairs to reach the bedrooms. He knew Amira's room was as empty as the rooms of their staff. The only place where they could've been interested in visiting was her father's bedroom – her late mother was a great collector of fine jewelry and clothes. The chambermaid followed him, though it was hard for her to keep up with his pace.

"Some weird guards came by the day Lady Amira was arrested. How is she, young master? Is she going to be alright?" the chambermaid expressed her preoccupation. Regardless of the trouble she liked to create, she was very dear to the girl.

"She'll be alright, Farah," Adnan said calmly as he halted outside her father's locked door. "Could you open this place for me?" he asked nicely and the chambermaid proceeded to do as he asked. He had, in that household, as much authority as the master himself. The room, bearing much difference with the rest of the house in luxury and detail seemed to have acquired a new main difference.

While the rest of the house remained intact that room seemed to have pillaged completely. There were residues of broken pottery on the floor as well as pieces of clothes and pillows sprawled around them. The drawers were broken open and their contents, Adnan assumed, were probably stolen. Yet, against all odd, everything, although either damaged or out of place, was still there. He did not know exactly what Amira's mother had kept in her chambers or the amount the value of such pieces. But there was one piece of jewelry that was worth so much more than the rest.

"Farah, you remember that one necklace the mistress had? It was made out of silver and had a stunning blue stone? I think there was a ring of matching color as well." The maid looked confused for a while, but then her face showed her realization.

"Yes, she would always wear it." She admitted.

"Do you know where it is?" Adnan asked, hope filling him for a moment.

"No," the maid replied her face suddenly somber. "Master wanted to keep it and give it to Lady Amira as soon as she was old enough, but the Mistress did not want that. I overheard them once, they were arguing about that. She made him promise that the day of her death he was to dispose of it. But, I am not sure about what he did with it." Adnan sighed and took out his frustrations with one of the few decorations that had remained intact. Like him, whoever went into that room left empty handed.

"You said weird guards came here, right? Where they guards of Damascus?" Adnan asked her, trying to find any more leads.

"No, master Adnan, they did not look one bit like our guards. They were wearing white cloaks but they said they were sent here by –,"

"Those were not guards, Farah," Adnan interrupted. "Don't you recall the man that was found with Amira, wasn't he wearing a similar attire?"

"Oh, no, I had completely forgotten about them. I am so sorry, master if I would have known..." Farah spoke, her voice filled with fear but no regret. It was almost as if she had let them in intentionally.

"If you hadn't let them in they would've found a way inside, anyway. Don't worry about it. Now, if you excuse me I must go somewhere. Oh, and the master is going to be coming back tomorrow so make sure this place is fixed by then." Adnan said and he made his way downstairs, deciding not to wait for a reply from her. Going there was probably the most educational experience he'd had in the last few days. If it was the assassin's the ones who were looking for the stone, then he knew exactly where to go. '

It's on days like this that I wish that girl was a bit more normal,' he commented to himself as he left the house behind. He was not really looking forward to his next journey, given that he had spent the last days traveling, but he was a man of his word. He had promised Ahmed that he would look after his baby sister and he was going to do just that, even if it cost him his life.

* * *

_And I am late, once again. Not only did I just get my computer back from the shop - damn thing keeps breaking on me - I am starting college soon and so, I've been a tad busy. But, with my computer back and my lack of enthusiasm for my upcoming college life, I am sure I will start posting more frequently (or so I hope). Until next time, muffins. _


	16. Chapter 16: Wondering

Chapter Sixteen: Wonders

The feeling fled as quickly as it had engulfed her. She had just killed a man – not the assassin, not the lieutenant but her. She was still holding on to the bow, refusing to let go of her murder weapon. There was the blood of the dead archer on her dress and on the floor, and the blood of the guard was also staining the dusty floor a couple of feet ahead. What had gotten into her? For her to kill a man and enjoy it, there was something definitely wrong with her. Whatever it was, she had to ignore it for the moment, for she could not possibly stay there with two dead bodies lying around. The street outside seemed deserted enough for her to just walk out and then run to the bureau. It would be a relatively simple task but for reasons she could not fully understand, she did not feel comfortable leaving the bow behind.

She picked up the extra arrows and the little basket in which they were carried and tied it around her back, like she had seen the archers in the Damascus do. She then proceeded to climb the ladder she had originally planned to use as a means of escape and started walking towards the bureau. She didn't need to do much jumping this time, for the buildings were almost always pressed together so it was not as tedious as the first time. In fact, the only thing that made her first time jumping through the rooftops was the assassin's attitude towards her. Always asking her to hurry and not caring when she got hurt, he was probably the most annoying person to travel with … and live with.

As she approached the bureau, she could almost feel the scolding she would get if Altair had beaten her. She could not think about what to say to Malik when he saw her. Not only did she seem to be dirtier there were light splatters of blood on her caused the body that magically fell from the sky. Who would believe such an excuse? Well, she did have the bow and arrows to prove her story but it was still farfetched.

It was as she stood merely two meters away from the bureau, one little gap away from her and her destination, that the loud bells started ringing alerting the city that an assassination had occurred. The same sound that accompanied her master's death was now ringing in her head again, causing her to almost lose her balance. To the population of Jerusalem the bells told them that one of their most influential men had been assassinated, to her the bells told her to get inside. And she did, she took her last jump and found herself on the rooftop of the bureau.

She would've gone inside right away, but she could see in the distance the white robed man she was so familiar with running towards the bureau with two guards trailing behind him. She was certain that as long as there were people chasing him there was no way he could go inside. Besides, he did not seem to be as agile whilst running as he was during the chase in Damascus. 'It must be his wound, slowing him down' Amira thought and did what she thought might be helpful.

She reached to the basket in her back and got one of the arrows she was carrying. She placed it on the bow, sloppily for she still had no idea just how to properly use her newly acquired weapon. She took aim, hoping she would not miss and released the hold on the strong. The arrow flew in the direction she had intended, a little bit more precise than anyone would have expect. With one hit, one of the men trailing Altair fell backwards, dead on the rooftops. The one behind him stared at the body with shock trying to figure out who had been responsible for such a thing. When he managed to locate Amira, she had already sent an arrow to greet him. Altair, who had not stopped running, joined her soon enough but instead of greeting her he simply tackled her causing them both to fall inside the bureau.

Amira landed on top of Altair who landed on top of the many pillows scattered around the floor. Their bodies where tightly pressed together and, if the footsteps rushing outside had been hushed, the moment would have been a little bit more awkward. When the guards left and their footsteps vanished, Altair pushed Amira off him with all his might. She landed on the floor next to him, cursing under her breath at his impoliteness.

"What do you think you were doing?!" he yelled at her as he got up from the floor.

"What the hell is your problem?!" Amira yelled in return, she had gotten up in an attempt to look taller though, when standing next to him she looked so much shorter than she truly was. "I helped you out, why do you have to be so –,"

"You helped _me_ out? Know your place woman!" he yelled at her, enraged.

"And what the hell would that be?! What is my role to play here, assassin?"

"You are supposed to follow my orders. If I say you stay here then you do just that."

"You have no right to –,"

"Silence!" Malik screamed as he left his usual spot behind the counter, "You are quarreling like children." Annoyed as could be, he continued when they were finally silent. "_I_ gave her permission to leave Altair, and as far as I recall my orders _overrule _yours. Now, do you really have time to be arguing with her? Shouldn't you be more concerned about other matters right now?"

Altair sighed and gave her a menacing glance before walking into the office. She stared at Malik, with an apologetic look on her face.

"I'm sorry," she whispered but he simply turned around and followed Altair. _Oh, great, now he is mad at me too. _

She took a seat against the wall of the bureau, still muttering apologies and curses to herself. He was too ill tempered, too impatient, too loud, too _overbearing_. Not even her father, who was as tall as him and probably more muscular, would raise his voice at her. He could yell at her, beat her and treat her like crap without her complaints, he was her father. But this man was just a stranger, a man who was holding her captive. They were not related and they were not involved with each other in any way. _Well, I guess we are involved with each other, in a sick and twisted way. _

She still failed at understanding why she was so attracted to him, as if there was a gravitational pull surrounding him – one that was much stronger than the one exerted by earth. Her thoughts, her feelings, all revolved around him in an erratic orbit. She wanted to be with him, but she could not stand being with him. He was overbearing and controlling, flaws that she had never been exposed to. He was distant and cold, a big contrast to her brother and his best friend. Even the lieutenant, who she had coexisted with for far less time, was nicer than he was. Yet, she did not have those uncontrollable feelings towards them. She could not explain, she did not care to explain but she needed to be with him_. Needed._

"I am so pathetic," she whispered into the wind, closing her eyes as she realized silence was not going to offer words of comfort.

"You are not pathetic, girly," a voice from the roof said before the speaker decided to invite himself in. He landed flawlessly on the ground in front of her, his face bearing a big, wide smile. "You are just a _little bit dumb_."

***

"Was that necessary?" Malik asked Altair once they were both inside the confined room. "Was that really necessary? Do you have to strike a fight with her every chance you get?" He was not sounding half as mad as Altair thought he would be, he actually seemed to be more lenient than usual.

"Why did she leave this place? She was supposed to stay here." He said, trying to disguise the discontent in his voice as much as he could. He was not happy with the way things had turned out, not only did his target said – yet again – something cryptic, the girl he was meant to protect had her leash cut loose. He did not know her for long enough to be able to create a personality profile for her, but he had spent enough minutes of his life anguishing about just what would she do next to bring hazard to her existence.

"I gave her permission to leave," Malik said, not bothering to give much explanation behind his words. He may not know the girl, but he knew this man. Even though their relationship had been strained due to previous events, he could at least still tell when he was lying.

"Wasn't that a little bit irresponsible coming from you?" Altair complained, his arms folded across his chest. _She knows how to get herself into trouble. I am almost certain she _got _herself into trouble._

"Unlike _you_, Altair, I am not irresponsible. I had my men trailing her since she left this place," Malik snapped back causing Altair to frown, ever more noticeably.

"Then, if you ask him about what happened during her little trip, then you would know why I am concerned," he said, now with a softer tone. He was trying too hard to hide the concern in his voice. _Concern is weakness, _he had told himself many times, and so he tried to stay away from it.

"I will catch up with that soon enough, Altair. But since when do you fear risks? I remember that, a certain occasion back when I was a healthy man, you loved to take unnecessary risks. But now you worry about this woman risking her life. Why, Altair? Is this really your way of showing concern – yelling and cursing? If it is, then I might have to add it to the list of things you cannot do right."

Feeling slightly insulted, Altair placed the marker in the counter, and stared at Malik, hoping he would change his topic of conversation.

"The job is done," he stated blankly, "I shall be leaving to Masyaf tomorrow morning."

***

"I am afraid you won't, _master _assassin, Altair," said the unexpected guest. He made his way into the room pulling Amira behind him. He was wearing a proud smirk on his face, as though he had accomplished the most admirable deed. Her face, unlike his, was showing utter confusion plus, though Altair was not sure if he was reading correctly, there seemed to be some humor in her face. He was holding her by the wrists, quite tightly at that, but she was showing no pain or no discomfort. Even when the lieutenant punched her, she did not seemed one bit as shaken as she was when they talked the night before. Her eyes focused on Malik, after meeting his for barely fractions of a second, her gaze curious.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Altair asked him, raising his voice to him like he had done with Amira.

Ahmed looked bemused by the frown on his face and so he softened it immediately. The few occasions he'd met with the man were very memorable, for their negative side rather than their positive side. Like Malik, that young man had a habit for contradicting everything he said. He loved to quarrel with him, and he was always willing to disobey his commands. Yet, everyone praised him. They all said how great of an assassin he would become, what a wonderful child he was. Everybody felt that way, even the master at some point, everyone except for Altair. To him, that fellow assassin would be nothing less and nothing more than a nuisance.

"It seems that your friend is a magnet for terrible things," he began to explain, leaning on the door frame. He gave a tug on Amira's wrist and she stumbled forwards, with a very much confused look on her face. She tried to smile at the people in the room but probably after seeing Altair's face, she gave up on the gesture.

"What about that woman?" he knew he shouldn't be too harsh on her, but sometimes he couldn't help it. It was not entirely in his nature to be mean, or cold, but someone like her and a man like him just couldn't possibly go along together. _We come from different worlds._

"Well, apparently, Al Mualim is not the only one interested in her. Though I am sure you know that. Some Knights Templar came all the way to this city looking for her."

"What makes you think they are looking for her?" Altair questioned, his mood filtering into his words.

"The one in charge sent _you _a message saying: "It's time you hand back the girl, assassin." Ahmed replied with a smirk on his face.

***


	17. Chapter 17: Wraiths

Chapter Seventeen: Wraiths

"That seems inconvenient," Malik said when he felt the tension between Altair and Ahmed grew. Altair was just that kind of man – the kind who hates the messenger and the message, as well. But even feeling the anger that emanated from him, he did not look one bit preoccupied.

"It isn't," Altair said at the exact same time Ahmed said the opposite statement. "It is."

"Okay, I see where this is going," Malik intervened when he felt the friction between both men growing. "You came here to boast that you knew something Altair didn't know. And you want to take credit for the hunting of these Knights. It's understandable, but next time, don't come and tell the man you are trying to surpass that you are trying to surpass him – especially if that man is Altair. I am sorry, Ahmed, but I cannot stop him from going after the Knights, as well."

"But - ," He spoke, though Malik's words stopped his again.

"But, since you are so eager and he is so impatient. Then I suggest we have a small competition."

"A competition?" Amira asked, baffled by his choice.

"You want to prove yourself better than him so badly, so tell me a better way to do that. You can start at sunrise tomorrow." With those words, he turned his back to the men behind him and walked to his counter. "I am to tell Al Mualim that you will be late Altair, due to unforeseen circumstances. Now, I believe you should catch some rest, Ahmed. Oh, and please, tell the healer to come by as soon as possible." His words may have little to no authority in Altair's head, but for the other members of Jerusalem's Bureau, his words were their command. Reluctantly, he started walking away, still tugging Amira away with him.

"The girl is not going with you," Altair said, taking her other hand and pulling, strong enough to make him stop. Ahmed glared at him, looking angry for the first time during their conversation. Slowly, he let go of her grip, and after giving her one last look he left the bureau.

_I wonder why every man seems to be so fixated on this woman,_ Malik thought as he scribbled the letter to their Master. To him the pretty girl everyone saw was nonexistent. There were many flaws to her that beauty could never redeem – her death wish, for once. Yet it seemed that his young assassin had taken a liking for her physical shell, which he made quite obvious with the last look he offered to her. Though, what disappointed him the most was not a young assassin feeling attracted to a faulty woman, but rather, that one of their greatest might find himself in that position, as well.

Even though Altair was not the kind of person to care much about anything other than his duty and his pride, he was only a man. A man who has shown, in his past endeavors, that he is fully capable of feeling attached to a member of the opposite sex. Of course, from what he's heard, Adha was a much finer specimen. He stared at them both, who seemed to be arguing yet again. _And here I was thinking that only I could get to his nerves so often. _

They heard the rough landing of the man who they assumed would be the healer he had called for, and they immediately stopped arguing. Amira sighed and walked outside, probably angered by something Altair said again. Malik stared at him, entertained. As much as he would hate seeing someone as skilled as Altair getting too attached to Amira, he found his whole mannerisms around her incredibly entertaining.

"What?" Altair asked him, annoyed. He must be raging due to the small turn of events. Though, he really should not be bothered by them. He knew that he could beat the young man with ease and having his trip delayed for one more day was not something he should dread so much.

"It's nothing," he said, going back to his letter. The healer made his way inside with a grin; he must've enjoyed the sight of the very exposed girl outside, as well. Without looking up, Malik instructed him to take Altair to the storage room and treat his wounds. Altair followed, though he had not been ordered to, which help to confirm Malik's suspicions that his wounds were not just superficial lacerations.

Amira crept in after Altair was gone, trying to be as quiet as she can. Her face seemed different than it did moments ago. The amused look on her face was gone and instead was replaced by sincere preoccupation.

"I know it's against your rules," she said to Malik. _If you know, then don't even bother asking. _  
"I don't want to depend on him to rescue me. I want to know how to fix my own mess." She stated after what he assumed was a careful choice of words. "I think I've played damsel in distress long enough, I –,"

"I am not going to teach you to be an assassin."

"I don't want you to teach me how to be one of you. I don't think I am strong enough to use a sword properly. I just…" she paused for a while and stared at the place outside. "No, never mind, I'm sorry for asking."

"So, you can use a bow and arrow?" He asked as she was leaving. She turned around and with a soft smile, nodded.

"I am not really good, I am sure my stance is terrible, but I can at least make the arrow go where I want it to go." He sighed and dropped his quill yet again. He walked to one of the shelves that stood behind him. He may think of her as a selfish and naïve little girl but there were few moments where she seemed more mature than she was. It was those displays of growth that made him want to help her – just like it would've inspired him to help anybody else. It would take much more than a little backbone to make him respect the broad, but for the time being, he would see it as an improvement.

"Here," he handed her a brown coated book, with a faint smile on his face, "you can read, right?" She nodded, probably surprised by his little present. "You'll find information on what you want to know."

"Thank you," she said with a vibrant smile leaving Malik slightly confused.

"If you get this happy about a book, I can't imagine what you are like with jewelry." Malik said, capturing bits of her good mood.

"Have you noticed that this Ahmed looks quite a lot like my brother?" she asked him, disregarding his comment. The question did not catch him off guard, for even he had noticed the similarities between both men.

"I know what you are thinking, but your brother is dead." He said coldly.

"I know that," her voice really was misleading. It changed from happy to sad in less than a second. Her entire being was that way too – it almost seemed like her mood depended on those who were around her. "But he really does look a lot like him. Anyways, I am going to go read this. Thank you."

"Very well," he muttered and continued writing the letter. He needed to stop distracting himself and she was quite the distraction. He lifted his sight to see her sitting comfortable against a wall, under the shade that the ivy plagued rooftop offered, she was finally happy and quiet.

***

"Where did you get such a nasty wound, eh?" The healer asked Altair as he was closing the wound. Though Amira had tried to treat it, her work was as sloppy as it would've been expected. "You are lucky you people wear that armor around your waist, or you would've surely perished." He patted him on the shoulder and walked outside, letting him know that he was done with his job. Altair heard him walk away and sat up even though he was advised to remain lying down. He was feeling slightly relieved, for his departure was right around the corner. _If only stupid Ahmed hadn't intervened, I would've been gone by now. _

Malik walked in as he was getting up to his feet, trying not to overdo the stitches on his abdomen. He looked at the bloodied up bandages and sighed, probably noticing for the first time just how nasty the wounds were. Yet, he did not find himself as being lucky; his pride had been walked on the day he lost to the lieutenant.

"I am surprised you did not object to the little game, Altair." Malik said to him when he got himself on his two feet.

"He has always been an obnoxious man, it would be a good way to prove him I am better than him." Altair replied, trying to get away from the place – he was in no mood to strike a conversation with anybody.

"Have you ever really wondered why she must be so important?" Malik whispered, only loud enough for him to hear. He turned around and looked at him.

"I have, many times," Altair answered honestly, "though I am afraid I have not reached a conclusion." Malik sighed and started walking away. "When you find out, let me know." He said before leaving. Night was soon to creep in and he had to go join Amira and sleep. When he got to her, he found her sleeping on the floor clinging tightly to a brown book. _She must've been tired_, he figured and pushed the book away from her hand. He picked her up and carried her to where the cushions and rugs were placed. It wouldn't be chivalrous of him to let her sleep on the cold floor again - though of course, his side of the bed was much more comfortable than hers.

He started taking off his weapons, as he had done the night before, and was placing them next to where he was meant to sleep. The weightlessness that the absence of his weapons gave him, was more burdensome than it was relieving. For a man like him, who was both the predator and the prey, being unarmed was a feeling of vulnerability that was hard to adjust to. But, when sleep calls, he must push those thoughts asides and focus only on resting. He had had quite the rough day and what awaited him tomorrow was probably going to be bothersome as well.

He closed his eyes and enjoyed the cold breeze that was starting to creep in. His thick robes kept him warm, but the stubborn female next to him had chosen not to wear anything thick again. He could feel her shivering slightly, as the temperature decreased. Frustrated, he got up and fetched the clothes she'd taken off when they arrived. He was not going to dress her, she did not deserve such treatment, but, he figured, they might serve as a good blanket. He placed the clothes on her body carefully, making sure he did not wake her up. His fingers came in contact with his skin as he did so. Her skin was very soft, as was to be expected from someone who had been raised in a wealthy family, and very cold.

_This woman never learns, _he told himself when he saw a small trickle of blood on her right shoulder. She had _somehow _managed to injure herself in the moments that she had been left alone. He sighed and moved his hands to clean the droplets of blood. But, as his hands met the crimson liquid something he'd never foreseen occurred. Images of countless moments and events started flashing in and out his head. They were chaotic and disorganized most of them making no sense whatsoever. Though, there were some that he understand and unfortunately, they all involved something tragic. The wild imagery only lasted a total amount of ten seconds, though to him the time was much longer. When they finally stopped, he fell backwards on to the floor. His eyes were wide with incredulity and his mind filled with questions.

_What in the world just happened?_


	18. Chapter 18: Witchcraft

**Chapter Eighteen: Witchcraft**

Dreams, though they vary in pace and vividness, they can all be said to have one thing in common: mysticism has always surrounded them. Some have claimed to see the dead in their dreams; some have claimed to have seen God in their dreams; some have claimed to leave their bodies when they dream and some have even attributed to their dreams the ability to foresee the future. Altair, never being a man prone to believe in much, would always disregard their claims. If he would've heard from her or from anyone, that dreams could be so accurate, he wouldn't have believed. But he was not told, he lived it.

It was probably the most painful way to wake up, with his head pounding and his heart racing. His body ached, though only slightly, and his vision seemed to be blurry. Something strange had happened to him the night before, but he could not seem to remember just what had occurred. He got up to his feet, stretching his stiff muscles. The bureau was empty and quiet, something he had not experienced in a while. Inside, Malik was wide awake, sitting still on a wooden chair, waiting for Altair to wake up. Even more surprising his little burden seemed to have woken as well, for she was nowhere to be seen.

"Morning, Altair." Malik said when he noticed him walk in. He had already put on all of his weapons and armor, unwilling to misspend one minute of his time. "The chase has already begun. I am actually amazed you were able to oversleep on the eve to such an important day." He picked up the basket of fruit and offered it to him. Hesitant, he pick up one of the juiciest looking fruits and took a small, classy bite out of it.

"Did Ahmed leave?" he asked and was answered with an excited nod. "Where is Amira?" This time, however, the look on Malik's face was different. He did not know why, but for a second it seemed as if he was looking slightly guilty. That expression changed quickly and became a taunting smirk.

"She left with Ahmed," he finally stated, looking away from Altair for a second. "I believe he is planning on using her as bait, I think. He did say something about motivating you to do your best, but I am not sure if he was referring to her. But, if he were … would you be motivated?" After hearing such words Altair turned around and started making his way to the exit. Regardless of how many times Malik would boast about his responsibility and common sense, there were times where even he made the dumbest decisions. He had pretty much chugged down what he assumed would be the only meal he'd have in the day, when he reach the dusty streets of Jerusalem. He stood in position, looking around for a while, hoping to find a trail that might lead him to a starting point.

A little girl walked in front of him, holding in her hands a lovely basket of flowers. She smiled at him, before running away to his mother, leaving behind a bigger help than she ever would've guessed. The places where Ahmed is stationed, given his outstanding abilities at investigation, were usually very crowded areas in town. In Jerusalem precisely, Altair had overheard from Malik, that he was stationed in the market, close to the bureau. And really, what better place to start that the place where his competition must have chosen as a starting point? After all, humans seek for familiarity – always choosing the places they are most familiar with first – so the market place was the best choice.

The place was crowded, but that was far from being a hindrance. In the large conglomeration of people, there must be at least one with knowledge that could come to his need. He sat on a bench near the ornate water fountain and decided to wait. He had place himself within hearing range of those who would walk past Ahmed's stand, hoping someone might say anything. Twenty minutes went by, and he was starting to feel frustrated from the lack of information. It was when he was about to leave that he spotted one of Jerusalem guards rushing towards an empty alleyway. Though it may have seemed meaningless to any other person, Altair knew that it was a significant lead. The man, as he ran towards his destination, was holding on the edge his sword, unconsciously showing that he was rushing towards a possible confrontation. Ruled only by a hunch, Altair got up from his seating place and started following the guard discretely.

"I am looking for a man named Ahmed, have you seen him, old man?" the guard asked the old man who was standing guard outside a small room. Altair, who was eavesdropping from a distance couldn't possibly distinguish the old man's face. He did notice however, how the guard's grip on his sword loosened – the old man was alone, the threat he thought he'd encounter was not present.

"I don't know my son," he replied with a raspy low voice, "he left early towards his uncle's house today. He said it was an emergency and asked me to watch his stand for today … I was just on my way there."

"Is that so?" the guard asked and the older man nodded his head with fear. "Alright, when you see him can you tell him I have a letter I need to deliver."

"I will make sure I tell him when he gets back, I don't think he'd take much longer." The guard gave a short respectful smile to the old man before turning around and walking away. He did not seem as though he would go where Ahmed was currently lodging, so the easiest thing to do was to steal the letter from him. It was easy enough, for guards tend to be so careless because they believe they are almighty.

The letter though it was short and hastily written provided some helpful information. It being only a three line manuscript which read: _You did good in securing the package. I'll meet you in our agreed spot today before noon. You better be there – __**it **__better be there. _He did not know where that place was or what the package was meant to be but at least he now knew that his former apprentice was up to something he had failed to share with them on their last meeting. He sighed and started walking towards the small and hard to locate house that had served as Ahmed's home as he grew up. _I could be on my way to Masyaf… instead I'm on a unnecessary treasure quest._

After minutes of walking, he finally reached the place he was looking for. Luckily enough, he'd bothered to ask Malik quite some time ago for the place of residence of his pupil in case the day came when he had to travel to give the not so terrible news of his demise personally. Though it would be a lie if he was to say that he'd ever wished something wrong for the young man, he was never fond of him. This precisely, was one of those things he'd always abhorred in him: making him go through so much trouble over something so simple. If he had just told him where the damn templar Knights were seen, things would have been so much smoother.

He didn't knock for he was trying to keep himself from alerting anybody who was not meant to be, and simply walked inside the house. Much different from what he remembered, the house which used to be fairly decorated had been turned into a plain, prison-like room with a gloomy ambiance. Unsure whether if it was his minds playing tricks on him or not, he could've sworn that he could smell the lightest trace of blood. He went further in the house, visiting the kitchen and both the bedrooms, only to realize that it was almost too empty to serve as any valuable hint. As he was about to exit, a light stream of a crimson liquid gave him the one bit of motivation he needed to stay in the house and Jerusalem as a whole. From under the small study's door, the trickle of blood made its way out of an open wound into the dirty floor. He immediately turned on his heels and walked towards the only room he'd failed to check.

Inside, the gruesome picture of the old man he'd only met once greeted him. His eyes were still open, though the life in them had been drained and his chest, which was covered with now red clothes, showed the wound left behind by a large sword – the kind the templar knights loved to use. Next to the body a series of bloodied up footsteps led to the outside of the house, leaving a wonderfully clean trail behind them. He followed the footsteps believing that they would lead to an empty sight or serve as another loose end, instead he found just the sight he was looking for.

Ahmed's face was angry and almost rabid as he fought two of the Knights at once. He showed to bear a small cut on his right arm and a deeper but not worrisome injury on his left leg. The crowd which would normally walk the streets had retreated leaving them free to fight. Altair sighed as he approached the battle ground, unsheathe his sword, and since he had not been noticed by the knights, snuck up from behind one of them and ran his sword through his abdomen. The other one turned around, shocked and tried to hit Altair, but he made the same mistake the other one had made: he gave his back to an assassin. This time it was Ahmed who ended the life of the Knight, puncturing his right lung with his dagger.

Panting, he approached a much serene Altair, who looked as if he was awaiting an explanation. Around them, the bodies of two more knights lay limp on the floor, dead at the hands of Ahmed and his daggers. The young man examined the scene and then looked at Altair with a hint of guilt in his eyes.

"Where's the woman, Ahmed?" Altair asked when he noticed she was nowhere close to where they standing. "Enough games, enough crap, just let me do what I was sent here to do. I have to take that woman back to Master and if you are going to stand in my way then I will not hesitate to strike you down as well."

"It's too late for her, assassin," a third member seemed to had joined the party. From the same place Altair had come from another Knight had walked out. His thick accent and his European features seemed to emphasize how much he was truly enjoying the scene before him. Ahmed, who had been turning his back to the man did not seem to show one hint of surprise, only regret was written on his face. "The woman is dead or… dying if you please. Though, I cannot say it'll be much of a loss for what you were about to turn in to your Master were nothing but defective goods. The real treasure, that's a tad harder to obtain."

"What treasure?!" Altair yelled, "What are you talking about?" He walked towards the Knight but Ahmed stood in front of him, blocking his way.

"You'll know in time, until then tell Al Mualim that we've done him nothing but a favor."

"What are you –," Altair spoke but he was interrupted by the punch Ahmed thought it would be convenient to land on his face.

"Just forget about that and focus on me! I am finally your opponent!" He yelled, and pulled out his sword. A soft giggle came out of the mouth of the Knight, as he watched the men stare at each other like angry lions ready to attack their prey. He turned around delighted; a wide grin was stretched across his face as he heard the men fighting behind him. He stretched out his hand to reach for the handle of a door. With a strong thug he pulled it open and kneeling, he dragged Amira's body into their field of vision. Though the wound on her body was beyond repair, she was still struggling to keep herself alive. Her brown eyes stared at the cold man for seconds before he muttered softly into her ear: _'His death will definitely be interesting to watch don't you think?' _. With that he turned around to take a last glimpse at the fighting men behind him.

"When you are done, assassin, I think she'd like to see you." He whispered into the wind before leaving.

Altair managed to, after a relatively hard confrontation, put an end to the life of his former pupil. With a quick trust to the gut, he managed to stop his movements and his breathing, as well as the once strong beating of his heart. The wound he'd acquire whilst fighting the lieutenant was throbbing slightly due to the strain he'd just placed on his body. Though what bothered him the most was not the physical pain and exhaustion but rather the weight that had suddenly fallen on his shoulders. He could hear from where he stood the troubled breathing of the girl he was meant to protect. That annoying girl who couldn't go a day without getting in trouble was standing feet away from him, bleeding to death.

He rushed next to her and, upon seeing her wound, did the most humane thing he could think up at the moment. He grabbed her hand and stared into her dark, weary eyes. A faint smile was plastered on her face as if she felt relieved just by having him next to her. He tightened his grip as he thought not only of the girl dying in front of him, but the disappointment he'd be to Al Mualim when he lets him know that he failed in his task. The anger he was feeling was directed at both himself and the woman, for none of them should've let their guard down. _She shouldn't have gone with him and I should've hurried. _

Her eyes closed as a reaction to the increasing pressure on her hands and the smile was forever wiped out from her face. He could feel as the warmth was escaping her, and the coldness of death took over her limbs. She tried to say something, he could tell by the slight movements of her lips, but nothing she could say would he be able to hear. He wanted to say many things, as well – many things which he'd never thought himself capable of thinking even worse saying. _Thank you, for helping me out even though I've done nothing but hurt you. Thank you for keeping me company when I tried to push you away. Thank you, Amira Bra'em. _

Her hand, which was holding on to his with the minimum amount of strength possible stopped applying pressure. Her lips which had tried to communicate with him were still and her eyes, which many times had seemed so lively and happy where closed shut. Her pale face look even paler and her skin which was prone to getting cold at nights was five times colder than it'd ever been. Her heart, which had been trying to put up a fight, gave up and stopped beating. No breathings. No pulse. No reactions. Amira was dead.

*******

**I think that by now I've lost the few credibility I had with you, my dearest readers. Not only do I fail to update when I am supposed to, it takes me ages to update again. I have been incredibly busy lately – school work has been piling up as well as the many extracurricular activities of mine. Though I know excuses are not acceptable, I would like to offer my most sincere apologies to you all. In two weeks I'll be free from the hell that is college and I'll finally be able to focus on this story (and future story) of mine. **

**On to happier news, I just got ACII and I can't wait to play. Every time I see it's pretty little box sitting atop my xBox, I can't help but scream: "Screw you, Chemistry, Ezio is calling me." I think I'll finally get to play it this weekend, I can't wait! :D**


	19. Chapter 19: Weary

**Chapter Nineteen: Weary**

Just like the morning before, waking up to the thrusting pain of your muscles, was very unwanted and annoying. Again, he felt as he'd fallen from the highest peak breaking every bone in his body, tearing every muscle. The place was exactly like it had been the night before, with small rays of lights filtering in, and the vacant space were Amira used to sleep. He stared at it, feeling the slightest form of nostalgia. Even though he wouldn't go as far as saying he missed her, her absence was noticeable.

He sighed, sitting up in the vast sea of cushions and pillows. The morning was cooler than usual, meaning the day's heat might not be as blazing and unforgiving as it normally is. Usually, this type of weather would make any traveler rejoice, for it would make their journey less tedious. He got up to his feet and walked towards the inside of the bureau. Malik was sitting in his usual spot, scribbling something into parchment.

"Good morning, Altair," he greeted him as he saw him standing by the door's frame. Though he was trying to be as nice as possible, the expression on Altair's face made Malik snap back to his usual animosity-ridden mood. "What in the world is wrong with you?" He yelled, staring at him with a reprimanding glance. He paused, expecting some kind of answer; instead all he got was an indifferent glance and silence.

"Fine, do not talk to me," Malik said in surrender. "Seriously, you need to get over it. Sure, your journey has been delayed by a day, but at least you get to hurt Ahmed's overgrown ego." He was just going to pick up something to eat before leaving, he was not going to bother listening to Malik, but those words got his attention.

"What?" he asked, quickly turning around to face the man he had intended to ignore.

"Isn't that why you look so unpleasant – not that you are any pleasant on a regular basis – the whole contest with Ahmed?"

"Ahmed is dead Malik, in case you do not remember" Altair said, his voice raised and his anger rising.

"No, I do not recall that," Malik said, dropping his material and fully focusing on the man before him. "I do not recall that." Altair stared at him, his frustrations increasing by the second. How the hell could he not remembered what had happened? One of their own betrayed them and sold Amira to the Templar Knights. Ahmed, his former pupil was responsible for the woman's death. And he, he had failed his Master by allowing such a thing to happen. How could Malik forget? How the hell could he not remember? He was about to open his mouth to speak, to complain and scream at Malik for his faulty memory, when he realized he did not remember telling Malik about what had happened. He did not remember anything that occurred after her death. He remember holding her hand and staring into her fearful eyes. He remembered the moment when he lost her but he did not remember anything after that.

"Where's Amira?" he asked, suddenly sounding more agitated. Malik stared at him, his face bearing an expression of both confusion and annoyance. "Where is she?" he repeated, louder than before when he did not get an immediate reply. Malik, who was still trying to assimilate and understand his sudden change of mood, simply pointed out the door.

"She left with Ahmed about ten minutes ago. Even though he did not say it aloud, I am sure he is just trying to use her as bait to make the Knights come out. Not such a bad idea if I may say, of course, it's only a good idea because he is actually skilled. Now, if he was a –," Malik was cut short by another of Altair's sudden outbursts. Without letting the man finish talking he had dashed towards the exit.

"Things like this Altair are what make you one very dislikable person." Malik said with a sigh. He had given up on the understanding part for it was impossible to understand a being such as him. "Rushing out like that – what a disrespectful child."

***

Though oblivious to Malik, Altair knew that someone's life was on the line. And so he ran through Jerusalem's rooftops, trying to get to that place before it was too late. He did not understand what was going on. He did not know why he had seen such a thing when it wasn't real. _But it felt real, _he told himself as he pushed his body to go faster. Everything was so clearly engraved in his head that the thought of it being just a product of his imagination was absurd. There was no way, after everything that he had lived through, that it wasn't real. Images and sounds, those can be fabricated by the mind, but feelings as strong as he'd experienced; there was no way those could be created. He remembered the place clearly, the deteriorated room and the bloody alley, he needed to get to the uncle's house as fast as he could.

Even though he was not sure if he was going to encounter the same sight he did, or if anything remotely similar was going to occur in that place, his urge to get there was driving him mad. Unsure and confused, he realized the only way to settle his uncertainty was to get there, and see for himself. He had definitely gotten there faster than last time and as he scouted the area from above, he saw nothing. The alley was empty and the house seemed quiet, there was no activity in that place, no sign of motion. Perhaps that was what bothered him the most – a street which should be crowded and noisy was empty of all sound and people.

He dropped down from the second story balcony he had been standing on, and landed quietly on a smaller alley. The place was dark and an uncomfortable smell slithered around in the confined space. It may be uncomfortable, but it would let him peek inside the house without alerting anyone. He stopped next to one of the barely open windows, when he heard the first signs of human presence.

"Listen, you need to get out of here," Ahmed said to someone, sounding incredibly agitated. "I, I know what is stored for me, I am well aware of it. But you…" there was a pause, whomever he was talking to; his feelings were interfering with his communication skills. "If they find you…" he fell silent again, this time however he was forced to do so by an authoritative: 'Shh!'

"I am your uncle, boy, if I have to die here and now, I am willing to do so. Besides, you know that even if I ran, they would track me down and well, it would be better to end everything as quickly as possible. Dying right now would be very appropriate and dying by your hand would be even better."

"Don't say things like that!" Ahmed intervened, though he was screaming his voice was filled with despair rather than anger.

"What about that girl? You are just going to let them kill her?" The old man asked his nephew. It was almost unbelievable how in the face of probable death he seemed to maintain his composure. His words flew with poise and serenity, very unlike the young assassin.

"Do we have a choice?" Ahmed replied, "Why can't you understand that, I am just trying to –,"

"It will not work, Ahmed, he is going to die," Altair's dying interest was resurrected as he recognized the soft voice that was now speaking amongst the two other men. "You both will die." Like the old man, her voice was not showing any sign of panic, instead it sounded hopeful. _What could she be hoping for, her own death? _Altair asked himself, ignoring the fact that the only thing she must've been hoping was for him to go save her once again.

"Shut up, woman!" Ahmed said causing her to laugh lightly.

"I may not be that treasure you are talking about –,"

"You are not so shut up!" Ahmed yelled back. He stared at the woman who was tied up to a small wooden chair. She was smiling at him, even though he was screaming, she was smiling.

"Why the hell are you smiling?" Ahmed and Altair asked at the same time, their voices ringing in unison. He didn't even bother to keep on listening to their conversation, the moment he heard Amira's voice, he stopped caring about anything else. Silently, he made his way through the back door of the house and into the room where the men were gathered. He was greeted by surprised faces, even from Amira. Ahmed, noticing his sudden arrival, picked up his small blade from the big table that stood between him and the old man. Instead of charging towards Altair, however, he moved towards his uncle. With his eyes filled with tears and his heart overflowing with regret, the young man drove the weapon into the old man's chest. A wide smile was plastered on his face as he stumbled onto his knees and then onto the floor. Reacting to Ahmed's hostility, Altair pulled out his hidden blade and moved in to kill the young assassin. It was a swift movement, so precise that he shouldn't have even felt it. His hands which had been clutching the small weapon released their hold and the sound of the iron hitting the floor managed to hide the sound of his own body hitting the ground.

He turned to look at Amira whose eyes were wide in shock. What was so surprising of what he had done, he could not understand. She has seen him kill people before, she had seen death before and she never looked as scared as she did that moment. He saw her lips part, and through a shaky whisper she managed to convey to Altair the sudden burst of fear.

"Be-behind you." She stuttered, her voice barely audible. But he understood what she meant and as quickly as he could he turned around to face a familiar silhouette. Average height, probably a couple of centimeters shorter than him; blonde hair that look even brighter against the sunlight; grey, heavy armor covering most part of his body; big and mighty sword hanging from his waist; light blue eyes staring at him with overflowing amusement and that smirk that taunted him so greatly – he recognized that man immediately. And he could tell, that man definitely remembered him, as well. It would have been a lie if Altair had said that he did not hated the fact that he lost against the lieutenant on his way to Jerusalem. It would have been nothing but a blatant lie if he'd dare say that he did not wanted to fight that man again. He craved for a second opportunity at crossing swords with him. Rarely did he find someone who was good enough to keep up with him even worse be able to defeat him. And this man was one of the few who had defeated Altair in combat. It pained him to even think those words, it would be even harder to put make them pour out of his mouth. He was defeated and he wanted a second chance to beat that man, to kill that man who had made him feel like a novice again. And he was going to kill that man. In that very place, at that very time, he was determined to kill that man.

So, he sprinted towards him, his hidden blade out and ready to be used. The lieutenant's smile grew wider and brighter upon witnessing such a reaction but he did not even bother to unsheathe his sword. He did not bother to move from that place as if he was just waiting for Altair to kill him. Of course, that was not the case, for no one would simply peacefully await their demise. No, the lieutenant hadn't moved because he already knew that he was going to be victorious once again. That was why he smiled. He had crushed the assassin's pride once and he was going to do it again. As the blade was about to hit him, the shiny metal tip merely inches away from his neck, he moved to the side as quickly as possible. The blade managed to cut through his skin, though the injury was much too faint to even be felt. With his right hand, and all the joy in his heart, he pushed Altair away from him. With his left hand he landed one strong and almost bone shattering hit on his face. The assassin stumbled backwards, blood sliding down his angered face. In order to keep his momentum, the lieutenant punched him yet again, this time with his right hand.

"Two hits," Aldrich said to Amira. She was looking at him, her eyes as widened and shocked as before. What seemed like only seconds to the lieutenant had been minutes to her. The adrenaline running through her body, mostly produced from the helplessness that was overflowing her existence, made time slow down for her. A sick, sick thing for any person's body to do for there are things that you really do not want to see precisely detailed – Altair getting knocked out by that man was one of those things.

"He thinks he is so great but yet, it only takes two hits to knock him out." His voice was sweet and charming, like it had been during their interrupted ride towards Jerusalem. It was a strange gift that man possessed, that mesmerizing voice of his.

"It's nice to see you again, Lady Amira. Out of all the places I thought I would find you, this was not one of them." He wasn't even looking at her as he spoke, instead he was kneeling down next to the body of Altair. He did glance up, to look at her endearingly scared eyes. He got up from where he was and walked towards her. Everything was so surreal at that point. She remembered vividly from the dream she had the night before that she was going to die in that place. Altair would show up, but it would've been much too late for another Knight had stabbed her after a long, painful interrogation. That knight, who had killed her in her dreams, was not the man standing before her. Now, Altair was unconscious, she was alive and the lieutenant was there. Nothing was making any sense to her, nothing at all. And having that man so near her was making thinking harder to carry out.

He undid the restrains that had kept her bound to some old and worn out, wooden chair. But, she did not move from where she was sitting. And he wasn't expecting her to move. He did not need her to move, yet. What he really needed were the pieces of cloth that had kept her immobilized for he needed to immobilize someone himself. He walked again towards the body of Altair and tied up his hands behind his back. He took a good look at the blade while he was doing so. It was still stained with blood, some of it belonging to the younger assassin and some if it belonging to him. After he'd made sure that he would not be able to free his hands or his feet, he took one deep breath.

"What are you doing?" she asked him, standing up and taking a step towards him. "What are you going to do to him?"

"Nothing, really," he replied casually. "You, me and him – we are going to go for a walk."

As if a 6 feet tall man wasn't heavy on his own – not to mention the extra amount of weight that Altair's well defined muscles and his broad variety of weaponry – he picked the man up and slung him on his shoulder. Summing up to that was the weight of his armor and weapons, yet he did not seem one bit trouble by the approximately 200 pounds he was carrying.

"I can't possibly carry both of you, so could you be a dear and follow me please."

"No. Just… Just put him down, now." She threatened or at least she tried to sound threatening. But no one would take such a sad excuse for a threat as intimidating. If anything, it was laughable and Aldrich did just that. He let out a soft laugh and walked closer to her.

"Keep in mind that if you do not come with me, the other not so nice Knights are going to kill you." He called out at her, still grinning like a fool. "If I wanted to kill either of you I would have done so by now. I need to talk to you and nothing more and we both know he would've been too big of a burden to let me do so. Now, Amira, I need you to come with me before the others get here."

She still didn't move however. She was trying to figure out a way to get out of that situation. She couldn't fight the lieutenant, she had tried that once before and it had not gone as smooth as she would've thought. And if she did fought and won, how would she carry Altair all the way to the bureau? _Why is it always me who ends up in positions like these? _ She sighed and gave the lieutenant one harsh look.

"When he wakes up," she muttered, "Tell him you had to drag me to wherever it is we are going. If he found out that I followed you he is going to be very upset."

"Very well," the lieutenant said and started walking away. Amira, who had reached a new level of frustration and confusion, followed suit.

***

**Author's Note**: No, Amira is not dead…yet. Or is she?

Anyways, I am so sorry for the constant delays. I never thought things could get so busy and so hectic and well, I really didn't think school could be so time-consuming. But, I am free and shall stay so for a couple more weeks, which is so damn relieving. I will finally get some time to write. You have no idea how badly I've been craving some precious writing time.

And just, thank you all who've taken your time to read this bunch of words I call a story. And really, I am truly sorry. If I ever make you wait as much again, feel free to reach out and slap the living crap out of me. I appreciate all your reviews and your comments – they really make my day. Thank you all, seriously. :D


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